Don't Worry, I'll Protect You
by tklivory
Summary: An AU of Dragon Age: Inquisition in which the Anchor is passed on to another shortly after Skyhold is settled and the Herald of Andraste takes up the title of Inquisitor. Another must try to garner the support of the people and marshal the forces of Thedas together to fight the threat of Corypheus. But can Dorian Pavus pull it off? Not alone! (Published weekly)
1. Prologue

Dorian coughed, trying to get the cloud of dust and grime out of his lungs. Before he'd even managed to take his first shaking breath, however, he was struggling to his feet, uncaring that his staff had snapped in two or that _something_ was wrong with his left ankle. All that mattered was the Inquisitor.

"Mailani!" he croaked as he forced his way closer to the cave-in. Behind him, he heard the others stirring, but he didn't bother looking back. All that mattered was the Inquisitor. "Lavellan!" he tried again, a bit louder this time, and finally remembered that he was, in fact, a mage. The thought was followed by a sputtering wisp summoned from the Fade, whirling around his head to provide a feeble light.

 _There._

Thank the Maker for that Dalish scarf she wore - it was like a beacon of green and gold in the darkness of the old Tevinter ruin around them. With faltering, fumbling steps, he moved towards it, ignoring the pain, the possibility of a further cave-in, of _anything_ that got between he and his best friend. His _only_ friend.

The sputter of green light almost made him cry - if the Anchor could light up, it meant she was _alive._ Closing the remaining space between them, he fell to his knees and took that glowing hand in his, trying to pour what little ability he had for healing into the Inquisitor. "Mailani," he breathed, "I'm here. I'll protect you."

At the sound of his voice, her head turned, and Dorian paled as he saw what had happened to her face. Blood covered the side of it, drenching her hair, and the top of her head was misshapen, crushed askew by an unseen force. "D-Dorian," she mumbled. "C-can't see you."

 _No, no, no!_ The tears came to his eyes unbidden, and he squeezed her hand all the more tightly. "The others will come," he promised. "Solas will be able to help, I know it, and Iron Bull can-" He looked down her body, and began to tremble. Her body disappeared at about her waist, hidden under a pile of rubble made of stones large and small. She'd always been nimble, but never physically strong - not that even Iron Bull would have held up well against a half ton of rock. "He... Bull can lift everything away, I'm sure of it."

"Dorian," she said, and the mage quieted. His hand squeezed hers so tightly now that his knuckles were white. "Dorian, I'm sorry."

That... wasn't what he'd expected to hear, and it wasn't welcome - not at all. He shook his head. "No. You'll be fine. The others will come."

"Sorry," she whispered. Her head shifted slightly, then relaxed, lolling limply on the ground, and the bright green of her hand flickered, then went out.

"No, no, _no!"_ But he couldn't deny it. No necromancer could deny the dimming of the eyes, or that last indrawn breath. Yet before he could even think of anything else, before he could cry or rage or attempt to bring her back, his world suddenly turned gold, then white, and then green before everything whirled away into a cloud of blackness.

His last thought was merely the hope that perhaps, this time, he would not awaken.

* * *

Dorian awoke to pain. He wasn't even aware of the groan he made as he curled up on his side, or the fact that he was on a bed, or the hand that landed on his shoulder. All he knew was that his hand felt like large shards of crystal had been shoved into it and were being moved by someone for nefarious purposes of their own. Vaguely he was aware that someone was muttering nearby, that the words were what he'd come to recognize as _elvish_ , but he could make no sense of either the speaker or the words which were spoken.

When the hand moved from his shoulder to touch the source of his pain, he instinctively rolled away, crying out in protest. _"Veshante kaffas!"_ he swore. "Go away!" It was like someone had gripped his head with a massive set of iron tongs and was slowly closing it, crushing him as they did so.

The muttering finally ceased, but Dorian almost didn't even notice because the horrid pressure and pain abruptly switched off, as if he'd been removed from a fire.

With a gasp, he rolled onto his back and panted heavily, trying to make sense of what was happening around him. Finally the fact that his name was being spoken, over and over again, penetrated his senses, and he forced his eyes to open.

"I see you have returned to us," a familiar voice said in an equally familiar detached manner. "It is good to see you awake again."

"So-Solas?" he breathed, eyes sagging shut once more. Dorian had no energy, nothing left but the barest amount he required to breathe and force out the elf's name. Well, and perhaps one other elf's name. "Mailani?"

He felt a hand land on his shoulder once more. "I'm afraid not, my friend," Solas said softly, and the detachment was gone, replaced by something so subtle it was hard to call it simple sorrow. Whatever Solas felt at the loss of the Inquisitor, it was, like the man himself, complex and deeply felt. "Sleep. The Inquisition needs you now more than ever."

 _Wha-_ The darkness rose even before he could complete the thought.

* * *

The pain was less the next time he awoke, far less like crystals shifting under his skin and in his bones and more like simply being stabbed in his palm by a dagger. Again the hand claimed his, again elvish soothed the pain away, and again Dorian fell into dreamless slumber. It wasn't until he awoke the third time that he was able to move, was able to open his eyes and see the world for more than a bleary second or two. He didn't move, though, and simply lay limp on the bed as he struggled to reconcile what he remembered with his strange awakenings.

Again a hand fell on his shoulder, but when he turned his head to look, fully expecting Solas, he instead found a far more severe face awaiting him. "Lady Cassandra," he murmured, then gasped as his hand twitched in pain.

"Just relax, Dorian," Cassandra said in a hushed tone. "Solas said that it might hurt for a while yet."

"What might hurt-" He grunted as another stab went through his hand, and this time he managed to lift his hand and look at it, expecting to see it ruined by the cave-in. Instead, he stared, dumbfounded, as his hand suddenly lit with a familiar green flame, and an itching arose in the back of his mind. "What- No, no, _no,_ this is _Mailani's_ mark, she-"

"-is dead," Cassandra said, the finality in her tone brooking no argument. "Iron Bull managed to pull you and Solas out, but your hand was already like that when he found you."

Dorian shook his head, ignoring the way the movement made the room spin. "She'll come back, just like she did before." _Anything_ seemed more likely than Mailani being dead. "Corypheus couldn't kill her at Haven. I _won't_ accept that she's gone!"

 _I'm sorry..._

He paused, looking around warily. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.

 _Sorry..._ An echo, a whisper, a sorrow, a memory... Or was it something more?

"I heard nothing, Dorian," Cassandra said with a weary sigh. Her face was tight and drawn, the circles under her eyes deep and dark. "All I know is that somehow we now have an Inquisitor who is even less popular with the Chantry and the people of Thedas than a Dalish elf was. The Herald of Andraste is dead, and in her place we have a mage from the Tevinter Imperium. At this rate we'll be lucky if even Leliana and Josephine can win us any support at all."

"I could have sworn I heard- Wait." Dorian blinked and looked up at Cassandra. "New... new what?"

"You bear the mark now, Dorian. The Anchor is yours. You have... further to go to gain everyone's trust, but you are the Inquisitor now. Or at least, you have the right to earn the title, just as Mailani did." Cassandra patted him on the chest, then rose to her feet. "Sleep now. I'll have some food and water brought up to you."

Dorian would have objected, but the swaying of the world had been steadily increasing as Cassandra spoke, and his eyes fluttered before falling shut.

The last thing he heard before he fell into slumber once more was, _I'm sorry, Dorian._

* * *

 _This fic arose out of a personally assigned exercise: write a fic about a non-canon ship and try to explain how it could work outside the game mechanics. So this fic started as a 'what if' blurb for the Cullrian (Dorian Pavus x Cullen Rutherford) ship._

 _This will be a sloooow burn fic, and likely long. I have trouble with short, honestly. There will be angst, hurt, comfort, humor, and lots and lots of hand touching along the way. (I like hand touching, okay?) It won't always be what is expected. But it will be a wild and, eventually, steamy ride, I promise you that._

 _Please let me know if you like this concept!_


	2. Stronger Than Steel

The voices filled the air like annoying insects, filling Cullen with the overwhelming urge to swat at them. He knew that a lot of things needed to be discussed and crucial decisions had to be made, but none of it seemed to be of any importance. Before him lay the expanse of Orlais and Ferelden, crucial points of interest meticulously marked by various bits of wood and horn and bone, and yet his eyes stared at it all without actually seeing any of it.

Something was missing.

The empty spot on the opposite side of the large table loomed in his mind, driving out all other concerns or cares. Someone should be there, someone with a shy smile and a lively gleam to her eyes, someone who had not even heard of Andraste before suddenly being declared Her Herald, someone whose long, thin fingers ending with archer's callouses had had an innate ability to chase away the pain and sorrow when the cravings got to be _too much._ Someone who had never judged him, who had filled a place in his life, in his heart - in his very soul - with a gentleness and warmth he'd never known before.

Something was _missing_.

His hand worked at the empty place at his side where a sword hilt usually rested, and something flashed through his mind: a darkened tunnel, Inquisition soldiers everywhere, mad chaos reigning as each man frantically moved stone and earth and reality itself in a desperate attempt to find the Herald. A voice calling his name, the urgency of its tone pulling him down into the tunnel where most of the rock had fallen. _She's here, Commander!_ A desperate scramble through rock and dirt and clouds of dust, ignoring the choking lack of air and the pain in his lungs at the chance that perhaps, _perhaps_ she could be saved.

Cullen's eyelids fluttered shut, but he could not unsee it. Could not forget skidding to a halt as the crew of soldiers heaved away the last rock. Could not forget the sound of the groans of dismay echoing in the cavern. Could not turn away at the sight of her crushed, tiny body, blood everywhere, no life, no _hope_ of life, no hope at all. Could not bear to leave without first kneeling down to place a kiss on the dried blood covering her forehead, or to hold back the tears, or forget the rage that had coursed through him as he'd realized that she was truly, utterly, completely gone.

 _Something was missing._

"Commander?"

His eyes opened, and he turned to the red-haired woman who had spoken his name - most likely more than once - and stared at her silently for a few moments before finally nodding. "I'm sorry. Yes?"

There was sympathy on her face. It was an expression he'd become quite familiar with in the last few days. Everyone knew of his loss, and everyone was afraid to speak of it. In a way, that made the pain even worse, as if the silence simply amplified the agony. "If you need time, Commander-" she began, voice soft.

He shook his head. "Better to work," he said. Distantly he heard the strain in his voice, the hoarseness from the hours of trying not to weep before succumbing in the wee hours of the night. Clearing his throat, ignoring the pain as he did so, he straightened and tried to force himself to look more alert. "What did you need?"

"I would like a report on our soldiers. I can't help but notice that the number appears to have dwindled." The concern didn't leave her face, but at least she let them both pretend to dwell only upon business.

Cullen shrugged. "People are leaving. Without the Her- With the In-" He stopped and took a steadying breath. "Many have lost their motivation to serve the Inquisition." _And I'm not really trying to stop them,_ he admitted with a distant guilt. It just… didn't seem worth it, somehow. "Plus we're running out of supplies as it is."

"That is most certainly true," Josephine noted, looking up from her clipboard. "Quite a bit of the financial support for the Inquisition has been withdrawn, either on a permanent basis or because they wish to see how we will deal with our current crisis of leadership. It becomes a spiral, then: we lose the ability to retain troops, and thus lose the ability to send them out to garner supplies, and then lose even more influence." For a moment her pen stopped dancing on the paper, and Josephine sighed. "It is a difficult time."

Cullen's lips twisted. _Crisis of leadership._ "You mean no one wants to have anything to do with-"

"Thank you, Josephine," Leliana said, hastily interrupting Cullen before he could finish his sentence. "We knew there would be challenges after… what happened."

Before he knew that his hand was even in motion, Cullen's fist slammed down on the table, sending a spike of pain shooting up his arm as he agitated the bruises on his knuckles. "After she died. After Mailani _died._ Why won't you just _say_ it?" he demanded. "No, instead you have to dance around it. _Crisis of leadership."_ He snorted, ignoring Josephine's discomfort as she turned away. "The Inquisitor's dead, and all of you just to pretend that things can go back to some farcical state of normalcy!"

"Cullen!" That voice came from the doorway, an edge of command in it that only Cullen himself could ever hope to match. Cassandra marched into the room, eyes flinty as they took in the trio and came to rest on Cullen. "What has happened has affected us all. None of us would deny your pain, but I will ask that you recall that we all held her in the highest regard." Her gaze flicked to the empty place, the first person to look since the advisors had entered the room, and her expression softened. "No one would think less of you for needing time, Cullen," she told him softly.

"I can work through it," he insisted, looking everywhere but at that empty place. "I _need_ to-" He stopped and cleared his throat. Her words had made an impact, as they usually did, and he took a moment to slowly breathe in and out before turning to Josephine. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. My words were… poorly chosen."

"It is forgotten, Commander," Josephine replied immediately. "These are difficult times for all of us." She didn't speak of why it was more difficult for him in particular, of course, but it hovered in the air around them, a weight they couldn't ignore any more than they could ignore her death.

Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but a movement at the door caught his attention. His head snapped around, and a fierce scowl came to his face. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Cassandra looked to where Dorian stood, obviously uncomfortable in a way no one present had ever seen before. "I asked him to come here, now that he's the-"

"Don't say it." Cullen's voice cracked through the air like a whip, halting whatever Cassandra had been about to say.

"He bears the mark, Cullen," Cassandra pointed out with a frown. "That is irrefutable fact now. The Inquisition must-"

"Maker's breath, her clan just collected her remains yesterday and already you're replacing her!" Cullen stormed past Leliana and Cassandra, and went to Dorian, shoving him into the hall leading to the war table room. "You don't belong here!"

"Commander, I-" Dorian began.

Cullen didn't relent, not even when Cassandra's voice called his name sharply from behind him. He surged after the mage, all his impotent rage and directionless fury focusing on the man who would _dare_ to take her place. His hands wrapped around the mage's impossibly constructed shirt so that Cullen could shove him into the nearest wall. "You were the last one with her," he grated, eyes narrowed in anger. "You were the last one who could have saved her, and you didn't. You. Don't. Belong." He pushed the mage into the wall with each word for emphasis, never breaking eye contact.

Dorian's pale eyes were wide with fear - fear, and a deep sorrow that Cullen refused to acknowledge because it wasn't _his_. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so sorry. I tried-"

"Well, obviously you weren't good enough," he snarled. "Pity it couldn't have been _you_ under those rocks."

 _"Cullen!"_ Hands seized Cullen's shoulders and ripped him away from Dorian, throwing the ex-Templar into the opposite wall with a metallic clatter. The impact was strong enough that he fell limply to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. "That is _enough!"_

Glaring up at Cassandra, Cullen slowly got to his feet and pointed to where Dorian had slumped down the wall. His rage hadn't dimmed one whit. "Get him out of here. I won't have the man who let her die remain in Skyhold."

Cassandra's slap caught him completely by surprise, rocking him back on his heels enough that he had to windmill his arms to remain on his feet. Her action had the intended effect, especially since she hadn't pulled any of her strength, and snuffed his rage as effectively as if she'd used a bucket of water. A shocked silence reigned in the hallway as, still staring wordlessly at Cassandra, Cullen raised his hand to rub at his cheek, the pain and heat telling him that a bruise was already blossoming.

"I am going to assume that it was grief causing you to act in such a reprehensible fashion," she told him in tight, clipped tones. "As such, I will not have you locked up in a cell for assault and slander against a valued member of the Inquisition. As it is, _Commander,_ I suggest you return to your quarters and think of several different ways to apologize to Dorian for both your words and your deeds."

His breathing grew faster as he stumbled back to lean against the wall. "Maker, Cassandra, I'm sorr-"

 _"Now,_ Cullen. And I am not the one from whom you should seek forgiveness." She turned to look at Dorian, who was being helped to his feet by Leliana and Josephine.

Cullen automatically followed her gaze, wincing when he saw how badly askew he'd left the man's clothes, though the marks of tears on the mage's cheeks were somehow worse. As he made an attempt to move to Dorian, a half-formulated apology forming in his head, Cassandra reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Quarters, now." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Let him recover."

Nodding slightly, Cullen turned and stumbled down the corridor, pausing only to look back over his shoulder once he reached the door to Josephine's office. Cassandra stood in front of the door like a sentinel, arms crossed over her chest and expression stern, and no one else was in sight. Cullen fumbled with the door handle for a moment, then quickly shoved the door open, shutting it just as fast behind him.

Once inside, he leaned back, sliding down to the floor as his breath came in hard and fast pants and his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Even he didn't know if he was apologizing to Cassandra, to Dorian, or to someone else entirely.

 _I'm sorry…_

He gasped, eyes opening wide. "That voice… No." Landing his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and leaned forward. "No, it can't be. Mailani?"

 _I'm so sorry…_

Of course, it wasn't _her._ It couldn't _possibly_ be. It was a memory, an echo of the guilt he felt, a phantom lingering in his mind coming out to haunt him when he was at his most vulnerable. Maker knew that Cullen was familiar enough with _actual_ demons doing the same thing, so why shouldn't the memory of the dead love of his life do the same?

Somehow, he managed to get to his feet. Somehow, he found his way back to his quarters, barred the doors, shucked his armor and clothing onto the floor, and laboriously climbed up to his bed. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the sky overhead for a few moments, but that calm didn't last. Curling onto his side, he let the tears come again, the sobs heaving his shoulders as he occasionally punched the headboard, bruising the knuckles even further.

After he'd exhausted himself, the claws of sleep wrapped around him and held tight. As his eyelids dragged shut, the ghost - real or imagined, it truly did not matter - returned one last time, earning a final tear as he slipped into slumber.

 _I'm sorry._


	3. Remember Me

Cullen's back slammed into the ground with enough force to empty his lungs as he struggled against the flame-wreathed figure above him. With a kick fueled by galvanized desperation, Cullen lashed out, pushing the rage demon back and rolling away. By the time he'd completed the roll, the demon had vanished. Just like always.

 _Nightmare. It's just a nightmare,_ he reminded himself sternly as he lay on his back and closed his eyes, desperately trying to pull himself from the Fade. It's why he'd turned to alcohol in the last few days to help him fall asleep, once the reality of Mailani's death had finally sunk in. Drink made the dreams duller, more distant.

 _But I didn't drink myself into a stupor this time, did I?_ No, it had been grief which pulled him down, and now all of his demons were trying to return home.

The ground beneath him shifted, changing into a bed - _his_ bed, he suspected, though he did not open his eyes - and a hand slipped over his waist as a familiar sensation nuzzled his cheek. "Bad dreams again?" a voice asked softly.

 _Maker, no. No, not_ this _again._ "Go away," he gritted between clenched teeth. "You've tried this before, and I won't fall for it." _Again._

A hand reached up to stroke his hair in that peculiarly gentle fashion that sang of _Mailani_ to him. "Do you _really_ want me to leave? At least you can pretend for a while."

"Go _away!"_ Cullen made as if to strike at the desire demon, and ended up falling to the ground as the bed disappeared, leaving him surrounded by nothing but the slowly shifting grey and green landscape of the Fade and the lingering laughter of the demon.

Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and buried his head in his hands. All he needed was a _moment,_ a calm _moment,_ to leave the nightmare and force himself awake, as he had countless times since Kirkwall.

"What do you think? White or red?"

"Oh, I don't know, Inquisitor. Don't you think pink would suit me rather well? My eyes do make certain colors _pop_ so incredibly well."

A light, familiar laugh. "Pink it is, then."

"So long as it isn't that Maker-be-damned plaideweave."

Cullen frowned as he looked up at the sound of the two voices. That was… _different_. Struggling to his feet, he found himself on the ramparts of Skyhold, looking at the backs of two people leaning against the stones to take in the view. He recognized the one on the right immediately, would have known that slight form and constantly tousled hair anywhere.

 _Mailani._

"Flowers don't come in plaideweave, Dorian," the elf told the man beside her in an overly-serious voice.

"Oh, thank the Maker, or whichever gods to whom you sing your praises," Dorian breathed in a suitably dramatic fashion. "I'm not sure my delicate sensibilities could handle that."

"I only made that mistake _once,"_ Mailani protested, then reached up to try to straighten her hair. It never worked - her hair was permanently mussed. "I'm not sure how we'll get flowers to Skyhold," the elf added as she looked at the mage with that achingly familiar smile on her face. "We're a bit far away from flower dotted meadows now."

Dorian turned to face her, his mustache twitching with amusement. "Oh, come, my dear. Don't give up hope. Why, if you can grow that troll snot in the garden here, I'm sure we can arrange for a few flowers. Enough for at least two head wreaths, at any rate."

Cullen's brow wrinkled as he realized that this was no demon, no manipulation. It _was_ Dorian, standing there on the ramparts with someone who… well… _No, no, don't think about it_ . Cullen looked around, taking in the fact that the ramparts weren't _connected_ to anything, and that the sky was as strange and hard to look at as it always was in the Fade. But _Dorian_ was real.

And then it hit him: this _was_ a dream. It just wasn't _Cullen's_ dream.

"Ghoul's beard, not troll snot!" Mailani insisted, though she was obviously trying not to laugh. "It has many medicinal purposes and can be made into a tincture for-"

Dorian waved a hand. "Yes, yes, you've told me all of that before. It _still_ looks like troll snot."

Cullen couldn't help but stare as he realized he'd actually never seen the two of them banter like this. A tiny part of him was even starting to feel a little bit jealous, especially when Mailani clapped both of her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

The jealousy faded, however, when Dorian opened his mouth again. "So Cullen's the one, hmm?" the mage asked, nudging Mailani with his elbow.

Mailani blushed, but didn't look away. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

"He's handsome enough, I suppose - if you like the type," Dorian mused, "but is that enough to make up for all that sass of his?"

Mailani laughed, that crystal clear laugh of hers which always sent shivers up Cullen's spine. "Oh, you're terrible! There's a lot more to him than sass!"

Dorian smirked as he scrutinized Mailani, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Oh, he must be a _fantastic_ kisser, then, to get _that_ expression on your face."

 _"Dorian!"_ Mailani and Cullen said together, but neither Mailani nor Dorian seemed to hear Cullen.

Ignoring her protest, Dorian continued, "A shem, Mailani! Oh, the shame! Why, you with a shem for a boyfriend would be like me having a… a…"

"A Dalish elf for a best friend?" she countered.

Dorian's face softened. "Yes. Precisely. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if our ancestors were all rolling over in their mutual graves. Or they would be, if mine weren't little piles of ash and yours weren't… wait, how do the Dalish tend to their dead?"

Mailani waggled her finger at him. "Oh, no, you're not distracting me _this_ time. I want to know what you really think, Dorian. And… well, you know, if you have any advice on how to handle it properly..." Her voice trailed away as she looked up at him with an entreating look on her face.

Dorian faced her fully, mien more serious. "Well, you're the Inquisitor and he's the Commander. People _will_ talk, though not _nearly_ as much as if it were, for example, you and me. Evil Tevinter magister trumps everything in the South, as far as I can tell. So with him, the main concern will be controlling the gossip, since you won't be able to avoid it. Be careful to avoid too many lingering looks and starry-eyed glances, _but_ at the same time ensure that there is enough affection between you in public that they don't think you're _hiding_ something or, worse, _lying_ about something. Don't change anything about his office, or his work duties, particularly in the beginning when you want to diminish rumors of favoritism, but don't make it look like he's a secret no one should know about, either. Private, but not a shame - that should be your guiding line on how to handle the court's speculation."

Mailani nodded slowly as Cullen raised his eyebrows, reluctantly impressed by the advice. He doubted Josephine could have added anything to it. "It's so different back home," Mailani sighed. "There, I would just make a wreath and put it on his head, and he'd do the same for me, and everyone would know where we stood. It's so complicated here."

Dorian patted her hand sympathetically. "Well, we shems are a bit misguided, aren't we? Certainly I am."

She gave him a wan smile. "You got better."

"Because of you," he reminded her, then reached out and lifted her chin so their eyes could meet. "He's a good man, though I suspect you don't need me to tell you that."

Mailani blushed and shook her head. "No," she said softly.

Dorain suddenly grinned. "Then I suppose I also don't need to tell you that if he ever hurts you, I'll freeze his sausage and nuggins until they fall clean off."

 _"Dorian!"_ came the unacknowledged chorus again, and Mailani giggled. "That's _terrible!"_

"Yes, well, men can be primal creatures," Dorian pointed out airily as he tapped the end of Mailani's nose with his finger. "Sometimes a threat is the only way to get our attention."

Mailani laughed before turning to look out at the mountains around Skyhold. "I'll let _you_ tell him that, then."

"Oh, fine, it's all on me, then," Dorian grumbled as he mimicked her posture, gaze sweeping over the landscape. After a moment, the mage glanced at Mailani once more. "I know this is a dream," he said quietly, a depth of sadness in his voice which Cullen had never heard before. "I wouldn't be much of a mage if I couldn't tell the Fade from reality, but it's been good to see you again, even if you're just a… a memory."

Mailani looked at him, and Cullen's heart ached at the sight of the sorrow on her face. He watched as she reached out to touch Dorian's clasped hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

And then something _pushed_ Cullen, sending him stumbling backwards and off the ramparts.

* * *

Cullen's eyes flew open, and he jerked himself up onto his elbows as he looked around the tower. The stars twinkled above, indicating he hadn't quite managed to sleep through the night, but nothing seemed out of place or felt like the Fade, nightmare or otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, he let himself fall back into the blankets, pondering what, precisely, he had witnessed and trying to make sense of it. The longer he thought about it, the less he could recall of the details, yet the impact of what he'd seen continued to resonate deep within. When the sky above slowly began to lighten, he sighed and forced himself out of bed. He had work to do.

With any luck, maybe _this_ time he could work hard enough to actually forget.


	4. Eyes on Me

The sad smile on Dorian's face lingered after waking, the impression of a comforting, if poignant, dream difficult to dismiss. Granted, no smile ever lasted past his morning bath, and probably never would. It was a ritual by now, with water heated by magic and softened with an ever-diminishing supply of scented oils bought with the last of the money he'd gained from selling his heritage. The scarcity made each drop of water precious, a spur to ensure that he looked his best every day as a personal reminder of what he'd lost, what he'd given up, and what had been taken. He'd hoped to make the supply last until they defeated Corypheus and the Venatori, but he doubted that would now be true.

And that was assuming the Inquisition survived Mailani's death.

 _I'm so sorry…_

He paused in the act of drying himself with his towel. That… was _not_ his thought. A whisper on the very edge of hearing, a memory of something borne anew on the winds of conscious… but it wasn't his mind which had created those words. He glanced down at his left hand, glimmering a fitful green in the growing light of the rising sun, and frowned thoughtfully.

"I'd be a poor mage if I didn't wonder how this came to be on my hand," he said softly. "Even Corypheus could not unseat it with all the power of the orb." He felt a pricking at the back of his eyes and quickly fought it down. "I'll figure it out, I promise you. I never broke a promise to you, save one."

The light on his palm flared once, then flickered out.

Hand clenching into a fist, he looked out of his narrow window, eyes burning with more than just the bright sun. "Maker, why did I have to fail _that_ one?"

He blinked a few times, then looked away and finished his morning ablutions quietly. By the time he was done, the sun had risen high enough that it was out of view of his window, and he knew it was time to leave the dubious safety of his quarters.

The moment he was outside his chambers, Dorian felt them: the _eyes._ Expecting, weighing, judging, and, above all, _everywhere._ Even at home, he'd rarely felt this amount of scrutiny - he'd been a prominent Altus when he'd behaved, and a notorious one when he'd chosen not to do so, but it hadn't been quite the same. In Skyhold, now and the last few days, he was caught in the limbo of _'expected to fail but hadn't quite managed it yet'._

 _At least I'm fairly sure I'll meet their low expectations,_ he thought bitterly to himself. _It seems to be my lot in life._ Still, it wouldn't do to show a surly exterior, particularly when the Inquisition was already treading on such thin ice, so he put on what he hoped was a pleasant expression while wending his way to the War Room to meet with the Iron Trio, as he was quickly learning to call them in his head. There was something implacable about the way Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine kept trying to prepare him for a role he had no desire to fill, but he couldn't quite bring himself to tell them to simply let him close rifts and nothing more.

Even worse were the rumors whipping around him as he made his way determinedly through Skyhold. Rumors had been a pervasive part of his youth, after all, so his ears were attuned to hearing their pernicious susurrations, especially the half-whispers that were supposedly secret, but not really _meant_ to be.

 _...lying to keep us here. The mark died with the Herald…_

 _...follow a magister from the Imperium? They must be mad! Best to start packing…_

 _...heard he let her die under those rocks, just to take the mark…_

 _...Commander said that? Really? Well, he would know, wouldn't he?_

The last comments made him cringe internally, though he didn't let it show. Apparently there truly were no secrets in Skyhold, even when the so-called secrets were exaggerations or outright lies. Still, he listened carefully, noting each and every variation. _Rumors_ he understood, and _rumors_ could be countered - if one knew of them. He'd been the cause of so very many iterations of them back home that ferreting them out had become second nature. _I'll be comparing notes with Leliana later, I'm certain,_ he sighed. When he was just a Tevinter nobody, he hadn't particularly cared. Now…

 _What_ does _the Iron Trio expect of me?_ he wondered again. _I'm dashing, but hardly a_ leader. _Not like-_ He stopped that thought before he could complete it. _Well, I'm sure they'll see reason soon enough._

As he walked through the main hall towards the war room, however, a commotion near the throne at the far end caught his eye. Though tempted to pass on by, he asked himself silently, _What would the Inquisitor do?_ and kept moving towards it. In his mind, of course, always and forever, _the Inquisitor_ would be Mailani.

As he approached, voices could be heard arguing, and he hovered long enough to get an idea of the situation. It became clear that a few of Cullen's soldiers were standing in front of the Inquisitor's throne, looking at each other nervously as their lieutenant argued with the man at the head of a group, presumably men and women who had come to join the cause - the Herald's cause, that is. Dorian's heart sank as he identified their leader as Horsemaster Dennet, but wasn't particularly surprised. There were few in Skyhold who had been more staunch supporters of Mailani than Dennet.

"Seeker Cassandra has said no one is to touch the throne," the lieutenant declared firmly, her arms crossed across her chest as she stared up at the man in front of her.

Dennet set his hands on his hips, jaw set. "Well, the people of Skyhold disagree with you," he said, then pointed at the throne. "That is the Inquisition's throne. And she's gone." Those words were spoken more quietly, and a number of the people gathered behind him bowed their head, a moment during which Dorian moved around the crowd to be closer to the front. The moment passed, however, when the man looked up with a stubborn expression. "I say we need to move it before the Vint sets his magister's fat ass on it!"

Dorian glanced up to the heavens and gave an inward sigh. _Honestly._ Granted, as insults went, it was a fairly pathetic attempt, and for a moment he was tempted to simply turn around and walk away, as he always had before. He'd known from the moment he'd joined the Inquisition that he would never be able to win their hearts and minds. His friendship with Mailani had proven to be a rare and precious thing in a world of disdainful looks and caustic judgments. As a mere _follower_ of the Herald, he'd had the luxury of turning his other _cheeks_ and walking away. Now… he flexed his hand slightly as it flared, the pain and the burden of the Anchor forcing him to take a deep breath.

 _Very well. If I am to be her legacy, I shall do it_ properly. _By going on the offensive, of course._

He'd learned long ago the value of fighting anger with a sharp wit and sharper tongue, and he saw no reason to spare any of the people gathered before the throne from either. After heaving a loud, melodramatic sigh, Dorian began to cluck his tongue. "Oh, my blushing buttcheeks! _Please,_ my good man. Is that really any way to insult someone?"

The guards and the people in the small crowd whirled to face him, and a few in the crowd started to edge away as Dennet's expression darkened further. Before the man could say anything in response, however, Dorian continued. "What a hodgepodge of vitriol! Why, I'm uncertain where to even begin. For one, I am no Magister. The proper term is Altus. And for another, your phrasing was absolutely atrocious."

As the Horsemaster's jaw dropped at this unexpected rejoinder, Dorian slowly walked to stand close to the lieutenant, tapping his lips thoughtfully with steepled fingers. "Perhaps you could have used _'the fat ass of the magister'_ or _'fat Vint's Magister ass'."_ He paused and pretended to consider it, head tilted as if in deep contemplation. "No, no, that wouldn't do. Perhaps you should stick with _'move it before the Magister's fat Tevinter ass breaks it'."_ He beamed at Dennet. "That rolls off the tongue much more properly, don't you think?"

Now more than a few people were staring at him, and, to his relief, he saw a few grins appear among the sea of furrowed brows and angry glares. Dennet kept staring at Dorian, even when Dorian took advantage of the fact to step forward and clap his hand on the man's shoulder firmly.

"Now. Here, my horsey friend," he said with a sweeping wave of his left hand, grateful for once for the pain as the green light flickered and glowed despite the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, "we have the throne of the Inquisition, as you said. Of the Herald of Andraste. Of my dear friend, Mailani Lavellan." He looked at it, not bothering to disguise the choking of his voice. "And you're right. I am neither Herald, nor Inquisition, and certainly not worthy of sitting upon it, whether my buttcheeks blush or not." That earned him a few titters from the people gathered behind him as well as from one of the guards standing next to the throne. To lessen the tension even more, he leaned in towards Dennet and said in a loud whisper, "You don't _really_ think my ass is fat, do you? It fits in those saddles of yours quite well, I thought."

That earned a snort even from Dennet, though he valiantly tried to pretend it wasn't amusement by frowning sternly. Pressing ahead with the advantage, Dorian said in a hearty voice, "What say you we turn it to face the wall, hmm?" He made a twisting gesture with his glowing hand, noting with satisfaction as the man stared at the green light. "Hard to claim any authority that's not yours when you're staring at a wall of bricks, wouldn't you say?"

When Dennet didn't reply immediately, the lieutenant dared to step forward. "With respect, Ser, Seeker Cassandra said-"

Dorian flipped his hand in a dismissive gesture, knowing it again brought all eyes upon it. He knew how rumors worked. He'd heard the bits and pieces earlier, but saw the life of those rumors in their eyes as they widened whenever the Anchor blazed and crackled. Oh, it hurt like the _blazes,_ but it was necessary to be _seen_ , in this case, to counter the whispers that it was all a lie, that the Inquisition was doomed. Granted, there were the _other_ rumors still to tackle, but only one step need be taken at a time. "Come, come, lieutenant. Lay all the blame on me, if you like, and I shan't say any differently to the Seeker herself." Pointing a trifle dramatically at the throne, he again clapped his hand on the Horsemaster's shoulder. "What say you?"

Abruptly Dennet nodded. "Aye. We'll turn it around." He waved the crowd forward, and Dorian surged forward with them, earning some startled glances and a few approving nods. With a great deal of effort, they all turned the heavy throne around until the owl calmly faced the wall.

Once the deed was done, Dorian turned to the people around him and smiled. "There we are. No usurpers allowed."

He watched as the crowd - which now included a fair bit more than just those who had followed the Horsemaster in the first place - heard those words, and waited for the moment when _listening_ turned to _understanding,_ then beyond. What he was looking for was _acceptance_ \- either of him or the idea that he wasn't trying to _replace_ the Herald. As the nods he was looking for began to spread through the crowd, he turned to Dennet. "The Inquisition still needs us, even if she can no longer stand here and tell us herself." He held out his right hand. "Will you stay, for her sake?"

The words hung there for a moment, and then Dennet reached out and took Dorian's hand in a firm shake as he nodded. "Aye, that I will. For now. Who's to say what tomorrow shall bring?"

"Hopefully no more rifts and no more Corypheus. I rather think that would make everyone happy, don't you think?" Dorian asked with a smile.

"That's the Maker's own truth," the man grunted. For a moment, Dennet's gaze remained on Dorian, but then he nodded. "We'll just be on our way then."

And… that was that. Dennet looked at the crowd still gathered around them and said, "To work! The Inquisition needs us!"

As the people slowly started to disperse, Dorian couldn't help but wave at them with his glowing left hand, using a smile to cover the grimace of pain as he wiggled his fingers at everyone. Then they were gone - except for one. The blond man stood directly in front of Dorian, arms crossed over his chest and a little smirk on his face as he inclined his head. "You handled that well," Cullen said. "I was just coming to deal with them myself."

Dorian's heart sped up slightly, his bruises not so quick to forget the events of yesterday as Cullen's smile was. "Commander," he said with an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Had I known you were already summoned, I wouldn't have bothered to get involved."

"Then I'm glad you didn't know." Cullen glanced back at the people in the hall, then stepped closer to Dorian so he could speak in a lower voice, though his brow furrowed as Dorian instinctively swayed back from him. He glanced at the guards, then gestured to the door to his left. "Might I have a word?"

Dorian swallowed, but knew he couldn't refuse the man. He could, however, control the situation, at least a little bit. "Of course, Commander. I was just on my way to the War Room. Perhaps you could accompany me." He gave Cullen a nod and hurried past him, using briskness to conceal what actually felt like a retreat as he headed for the door to Josie's office. The sound of Cullen's boots could be heard after a beat of hesitation, but he still managed to get past the second door into Josie's office before Cullen could corner him in that small space between. His smile faltered when he saw that Josephine wasn't at her desk, but he quickly repaired it as he pivoted to face Cullen. "And here we are. Josephine must be in the War Room waiting for me with the others." _I will be missed if I'm late._

Cullen sighed. "Yes, I know." His brows furrowed. "They don't want me to join you until I've offered my apology."

 _Join us…_ Pushing past the discomfort that arose with that thought, he raised an idle eyebrow. "Apology, Commander? Oh, for that little scuffle we had yesterday? Pray give it no mind. Why, I've had far worse than that just wandering the countryside with-" His smile faltered, and he quickly amended what he had been about to say. "Just… wandering the countryside. Have _you_ ever run across the length of the Hinterlands with a pack of demons on your tail? I think not. I'll be perfectly all right."

"No, I-" Distracted, Cullen looked at Dorian with a surprised look on his face. "Wait, have _you?"_

"A rather ignominious series of events, Commander." Yes, repeating the word helped keep the distance, kept the person hidden behind the title. Absently he flexed his hand as it began to itch. "Not my finest moment, I'll admit, but someone had to play bait to give the others time to-" He stopped, then, looking at his hand with a grimace as the itch flared into sudden, sharp pain.

"Is everything quite all right?" Cullen asked. "Is the mark giving you pain?"

Shaking his hand, Dorian chuckled and held it behind his back as he shook his head. "Oh, no. Just getting used to the glow. Let's go to the War Room, shall we?" he asked, then began to head to the back door of Josephine's office.

Cullen took a few large steps after him, his hand landing on Dorian's arm. _"Dorian,"_ he said in an urgent voice.

Stepping smoothly out of the grip, he turned to face Cullen with a brittle smile on his face. "I already told you, Commander-"

"Please, just… just hear me out." Cullen reached up and rubbed at his forehead for a moment. "There are a lot of excuses I could try to claim for my behavior yesterday, but I won't. The truth of the matter is that I treated you abhorrently. I forgot that you were a valued member of the Inquisition and…" He stopped, then shook his head. "That sounds… that's… Let me try again."

"Commander, I assure you, these measures are not necessary." _You're still who you are, and I am still what I am, and what I always shall be._ "We can work together as the Inquisition demands it. I belong to it now, after all. This little glowy thing just makes it more… official." He tried for a smile as he waved his hand in front of his face. "Just try not to break any more walls with me, would you? Skyhold _is_ an old, crumbling heap, after all. Who knows how much damage it can take from a sufficiently determined push?" He started to turn to the door.

Cullen's groan of exasperation halted him, and Dorian glanced back in time to see Cullen bury his face in his hands. After a few moments, the man looked up, face still pale and a bit sweaty, but with a determined expression. "It won't happen again. Just… please. Give me a chance. I promise there won't be a next time."

 _I'll do better next time, Father._ The words popped unbidden into Dorian's mind, part and parcel of the way he'd arranged his thoughts since deciding that his departure from his family needed to be permanent. _Please, give me another chance!_ Ruthlessly he pushed the memory of that vulnerable little boy away, refusing to think of why it had suddenly appeared in the first place.

Mouth inexplicably dry, Dorian inhaled sharply, left hand automatically rising to knead his brow. The very touch of that green light on his face made him flinch, and he hissed softly as he pulled his hand away quickly and stared at it. "Thank you, Commander. As you may have noticed, I am apparently not a very gracious man, but I appreciate the sincerity of your words. I accept your promise." he said softly. Clearing his throat, he said in a slightly stronger tone, "Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to the War Room, hmm? The Iron Trio will be expecting us by now, I'm sure."

Cullen's shoulders dropped a good two inches as Dorian spoke, but the last phrase earned a tired chuckle as he followed Dorian. "Iron Trio? I don't even need to ask who you mean."

"They'd be insulted if you did," Dorian quipped as he led the way.

* * *

The meeting in the War Room turned out to be every bit as long and tedious as Dorian had feared, made worse by the not-quite-lecture Cassandra gave him regarding his handling of the situation with the throne. Although fruit and bread was already waiting for them when they arrived, the meeting stretched on long enough that more food and chairs were brought in shortly after the sun passed its peak. A while after that, Cassandra looked at Cullen and frowned. "Are you all right, Cullen?"

Cullen blinked as he looked at her from his chair, and Dorian realized it had been quite a while since he had contributed to the discussion. Though the food had improved his color initially, now he was just as pale as he had been when he'd approached Dorian this morning. Despite that, his face was gleaming with sweat, and Dorian frowned. "You'd better go take care of that headache," he told Cullen. "Give it another hour, and you won't be able to shake it for days."

"And how would you know that?" Cullen snapped, then sighed and raised his hand to rub at his forehead. "My apologies. Perhaps you're right." He sighed, then stood. "I think you know as much as you need to about our troops and their deployment, anyway, given how few remain." He grimaced, though this time it was more at his words than his pain. "I shall leave you to your work."

"Cullen," Cassandra said as the man stood, waiting until she had his attention. "Take care of yourself." There was an odd note of caution in her voice as she said it, and Cullen nodded.

"Understood, Lady Seeker," Cullen said, the formality odd to Dorian until he saw the little smile on Cassandra's face as she watched the Commander leave.

 _Private joke, most likely._ "How much more of this must I endure myself?" he asked as the door closed behind Cullen.

Josephine smiled apologetically to him. "Perhaps we could take a quick break in an hour or two?"

Dorian groaned and buried his head in his hands. _"Kaffas._ And I thought lectures in the Circle were bad." With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and glared at the map. "But we're done with Orlais at least. What about that letter from Anora? I'd like to see that again."

By the time he emerged from the War Room - although blessedly they'd been allowed a few breaks in the meantime - the sky was indigo, his back was stiff, and his head and hand were throbbing in pain. All he really wanted to do was go to the tavern and get a drink, or perhaps sneak a wine bottle out of the cellar and go to his room. _Maybe two bottles. It's been that sort of a day._

So when he emerged from Josephine's office, the immediate hush which fell didn't really _register_. He felt their eyes upon him, of course, but that was more obvious, even with masks, and so common as to be insignificant. Instead he just nodded to the nearest Orlesian noble - their masks made them interchangeable, really - and began to work his way through the room, unconsciously moving to the main door and the tavern before he remembered that perhaps that wouldn't be the best idea. After all, he'd gone from _Tevinter pariah_ to even lower. Would they even let him in? Well, the Iron Bull would drink with him, he was certain of that - the man had little subtlety in some things. Tonight, Dorian was precisely in the kind of mood which would lead him to consider things he'd never pondered before, too.

As he stood on the threshold of the main hall, trying to decide if he was tired enough to go back to his bed or awake enough to contemplate seeking another's, the hush swelled into a quiet symphony of words. A trick of the acoustics in the hall brought the distant whispers to him, caressing his ears with hints of rumors and secrets.

 _...declared no usurpers. What is his game?..._

 _...Once a Vint, always a Vint…_

 _...clearly has the mark. He doesn't claim authority…_

 _...worth watching, I think. Perhaps this isn't the end…_

A little smile came to his face, unseen by anyone behind him, and he held up his left hand long enough to glance at it, flexing the pain away as it flared. "I will be her legacy," he said softly.

"Sparkler!"

Blinking, Dorian turned and saw Varric waving him over. Curious, he moved to where the dwarf stood next to the fire, moving close enough to bask in its warmth as he replied, "Varric."

"I've been waiting for them to let you escape for hours now," Varric grunted. "What did you do, have to provide examples for the class? Forget to bring enough to share? You were in there an awfully long time."

Dorian groaned. "Oh, _please_ don't remind me. I really just want some wine and my bed right now. So unless you're willing to offer the former without intruding upon the latter, perhaps we could continue this conversation at a later time?"

"Keep your pants on, Sparkler." Varric shifted from foot to foot, and Dorian frowned slightly as he realized for the first time that Varric's forehead was beaded with sweat.

"Varric, are you quite all right?" he asked, voice dropping slightly.

Heaving a sigh, the dwarf looked up the hall, apparently equally aware of the eyes upon Dorian at the moment. Finally, he gave a little shrug. "Look, Sparkler, I'm just here to look pretty and tell people what they need to do. And you need to go to the study in the basement."

Dorian's eyes narrowed momentarily. The request was… odd, to say the least, and the timing put it into an even more questionable light. "I did pay you those sovereigns I owed you, didn't I?" Dorian asked lightly. "If not, it would be easier to simply ask for them, you know."

That brought a grin to Varric's face. "Don't worry, Sparkler. If I wanted all your money, I'd just challenge you to another round of Wicked Grace."

"I am _not_ that poor a player," Dorian protested.

"No, but your wineglass _is,"_ the dwarf retorted with a smirk. "Just get going, would you? It's… kind of important."

Dorian frowned, though he banished it after only a moment to put the smile back on his face, all too aware of the eyes watching them. Questions raced through his mind in quick succession, but he knew that it would, in the end, come down to whether or not he trusted Varric enough to take him strictly at his word. After a momentary struggle, and an internal reminder that Varric had always been the most forthright with him in praise or insult, Dorian chuckled. "All right, if it's that important to you. We're still on for Wicked Grace tomorrow, yes? I have some money I don't need anymore, after all."

Varric visibly relaxed and laughed. "Wouldn't miss it, Sparkler. I need some more money for paper and ink, anyway."

With a sly wink, Dorian nodded to the dwarf. "I'd better go get some wine for it, then." For those watching, it would provide a perfectly good reason to explain why he backtracked and headed to the door leading to the lower levels of Skyhold.

When he reached the study, he found the door slightly ajar with a light glowing within. A reluctance abruptly seized him, partly because of the mystery, but also because this had been where Mailani went when she'd wanted time alone. Her quarters were a bit too easy to find, but most people still got lost trying to find the wine cellar, so it had been ideal for her.

Finally he took a deep breath, nodded to himself, and pushed his way in.

As he passed by the bookshelves to get to the desk, his fingers idly traced along their spines. His eyes darted around in the dim light, looking for a person, or a package, or _anything_ which would indicate why it was so important for him to be down here. When he heard the door click shut behind him, however, he pivoted quickly, calling fire to his hand as he readied it for defense or attack as necessary. "Who's there?"

"Calm yourself," a deep male voice said from the doorway. "I mean you no harm."

Dorian frowned. The voice was… familiar, but not enough he could match a face to it yet. When footsteps approached, he instinctively backed up and around the desk, even if it meant he ended up cornered. When the man finally entered the light, however, Dorian straightened from his combat crouch and let the fire dim away. "Your Excellency," he said with a bow, buying himself some time to wipe the astonished look from his face.

"Please," the man grunted as he crossed his arms across his chest. "I get enough of that in Kirkwall. I prefer Hawke."

Dorian rounded the desk again, though he was still a trifle wary. "I thought you and the Warden had gone ahead to the Western Approach."

"We got bored of waiting," Hawke noted dryly. "So we found some merchants. You know how much they love to talk. Heard about the Inquisitor and decided to come out here. Quietly, of course. Aveline's probably sent a bloody squad out looking for me by now without Bran knowing about it."

Dorian glanced around reflexively, a slight frown on his face. "Is the Warden here?"

"In Skyhold, yes. Said he had to go see an old friend." Hawke frowned. "But I really came here to see you. Are the rumors true? You've got the mark now?"

Holding up his left hand, Dorian looked at it as a green glow filled the study before fading away. "I have the mark, but no title or authority."

"And the Inquisition is falling apart around you, I'd imagine," Hawke said, shaking his head. "That whole 'Herald of Andraste' thing was a disaster waiting to happen anyway. If it's one thing I learned in Kirkwall, it's never mix religion with politics. However, Corypheus is still out there, and I'd be lying if I said I don't feel partially responsible for that. So I'm here to help."

Dorian's eyebrows rose, and for a moment he just stared at the man. Then he cleared his throat. "I see. Well. This just got incredibly interesting."


	5. Old Friends

"Another."

Cabot glanced at the mug which had been slammed onto the counter in front of him, then back up at the man who had put it there. "Are you sure, Commander?" he asked, his normally implacable voice tinged with just a hint of doubt.

With a scowl, Cullen planted his hands on the flat plank of wood between them and leaned forward, glaring at the dwarf for good measure. "Did I stutter?" he growled. The headache was making it rather difficult to concentrate, but at least the ale made him not care - about the physical **or** emotional pain. "Another!"

The bartender gave a little shrug and reached for the mug. "If you insist."

Abruptly another hand reached out and snatched the mug, pulling it out of reach. "He doesn't, actually, thanks all the same," said a man in a easygoing voice.

Cullen rounded on whoever had come between him and his next drink. "I don't need your-" He stopped, eyes widening when he saw who had spoken. "You!" It was like meeting a ghost from the past - a past he really would have preferred to forget.

"In the flesh. Bruised and battered as it may be," Alistair answered with a grin. He did appear to be a bit worse for wear - the hems of his clothes still bore the mix of snow and mud common to those recently arrived at Skyhold, and a healing bruise was evident on his cheek. A griffon was emblazoned across his chest on blue and silver armor, a detail which Cullen blinked at as Alistair leaned on the counter and remarked, "I heard tell that you're Commander of the Inquisition Forces now. I take it you got well away from Kirkwall after that whole business with Meredith?"

"Yes… Yes, Seeker Cassandra asked me to join the Inquisition," Cullen answered almost automatically. His gaze dropped to the griffon, then moved back up to Alistair's face. "So they took you back, then."

Alistair glanced down, his hand rising for a moment to splay across the griffon. "Yes, they did. Anora insisted I not return to Denerim, or 'consort' with the Bannorn. As if I'd want to," he muttered under his breath. Then he shook his head. "Never mind that. It took me a while to track you down once I got here. I certainly never expected to find you trying to get falling down drunk. Especially not after all those lectures you gave me back in the Hanged Man." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Have a place we can talk in private?"

Cullen scowled fiercely at Alistair, but when he found himself catching the edge of the counter to save himself from swaying too much, his cheeks darkened in embarrassment. "My office," he said shortly.

It wasn't the easiest walk back to his office, knowing that Alistair was likely watching him exactly as he'd watched Alistair back in Kirkwall. He could imagine the pity in the Warden's gaze, remembering how he'd felt to see the companion of the Hero of Ferelden, one of the Wardens who had saved Thedas from the Fifth Blight, reduced to a joke of a drunkard in a lowly Kirkwall tavern.

 _What am I, then?_ A failed Templar, a man who had helped the Viscount of Kirkwall to end Meredith's reign, perhaps, but then deserted the city. Commander of the Inquisition Forces, but with no Inquisitor to lead them. _Oh, yes, a great improvement,_ he thought bitterly. _I just waited longer to make a fool of myself._

"Careful," Alistair said in a singsong voice as he reached out to prevent Cullen from falling as he stumbled at the bottom of the stairs leading to the ramparts. "Wouldn't want to make that nose of yours any more red than it is."

Fighting the urge to rub his nose, Cullen paused a moment to get his bearings, turning to Alistair to cover his momentary unsteadiness under the guise of attempting conversation. Before a word came from his mouth, however, his attention was drawn to the conversation of two men standing nearby.

 _"He helped turn it around?"_ The man's voice was incredulous. _"He never did."_

 _"That's what Detton is saying. Helped, and then ordered the guards to make sure he got any blame for it."_

 _"Could be a trick. He's a Tevinter."_ The first man didn't sound so certain, though.

 _"Detton doesn't think so, and he's telling people the same. Don't know what's going on, but... Shit. Maybe he's not so bad?"_ He grabbed the first man's arm and tugged him down to the courtyard. _"Talk to him yourself, you'll see."_

Cullen frowned as he considered the exchange. _If one of those men isn't Leliana's agent, I'll eat my cloak._

"Everything all right, Rutherford?" Alistair asked, glancing after the two men.

"Hmm?" Cullen blinked, then nodded. "Yes. It's fine. We're almost there."

 _Almost there_ took them up the stairs and into Cullen's office, where he went straight to his recently-installed sideboard and uncovered the brandy. "Drink?"

Again a hand reached past him and took the top of the decanter from his hand and replaced it, then tugged Cullen away from the drinks with an inexorable pull towards the ladder. "No, and neither will you. Come on, let's get you in bed."

"'s too early- Ah, it is too early," Cullen said, hastily correcting himself.

"To drink? I agree, but here you are anyway." Alistair was clearly brooking no arguments as he dragged Cullen to the ladder. "Now climb, or I'll throw you over my shoulder and heave you up like a Honnleath bride."

Cullen's cheeks darkened, and he hastily began to climb the ladder. "I should never have told you about that," he said darkly.

"Well, you _did,_ and now I get to tease you about it endlessly," Alistair called up as Cullen climbed over the edge of the platform. A pile of papers caught his attention on his bed, and he picked them up to see if it was anything which required his immediate attention. The sound of the ladder creaking didn't really register until he heard Alistair clear his throat.

Cullen, guilt plain on his face, looked up at Alistair, standing with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "I was just-"

"That doesn't look like you're going to bed," Alistair pointed out sternly. "That looks like you're trying to sneak in some paperwork when you're not in the mental state to do it justice."

Cullen glared at him, partially for invading his privacy, and partially because Alistair was absolutely right and he knew it. Still, when the man leaned over and took the papers from his hands, he didn't object. "Since when are you my keeper?" he groused instead.

"Since the moment when you pulled me out of the gutter in Kirkwall and at least got me into the Hanged Man," Alistair told him, pulling Cullen's fur mantle from around his shoulders. "Even if you didn't recognize me at the time."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" Cullen said with a sigh. Still, getting the fur off felt… good. Like something had been lifted from his shoulders. "You hardly looked like the Warden I'd seen in Kinloch Hold." _Nor was I in the state of mind to really think beyond the demons, then, anyway,_ he thought with a shudder.

"No, but I can hardly blame you," Alistair mused as he began to work at Cullen's breastplate next. "I didn't look like that Warden, or the Templar recruit you also might have recognized. 'Drunk bum stuck on his ass' is a far cry from either of those." Hefting the breastplate up, he looked around for a place to put it. "Andraste's flaming knickers, the stand is below, isn't it?"

Cullen finally smiled, the first genuine one since Alistair had started taking his drinks away. "'Fraid so."

"Maker, you don't have to be so smug about it," Alistair complained as he set it down next to the bed, then patted the mattress. "Sit. I'll get those boots off."

"I am prefe-perfectly capable of doing that myself," he protested, then yelped as Alistair poked a finger in the middle of his chest and forced him down onto the mattress.

"I thought so too, back in Kirkwall," Alistair told him, then crouched to wrestle the heavy boots off. "And I was as wrong as you are."

"You're not playing fair." Cullen would have added more, but a wave of dizziness washed over him and he quickly put his hands on the mattress behind him to compensate.

"I'm not going to ask how many drinks you had," Alistair said quietly as he tugged the second boot off, "or when you started drinking today. I'm not going to ask how long it's been since you've had a proper rest, or looked at yourself in the mirror. I don't need to." Setting the boot next to the other one, he settled back to sit on his heels and met Cullen's gaze. "I heard what happened, and I heard the other rumors." Reaching out, he squeezed Cullen's knee with a sympathetic look on his face. "I'm sorry."

Cullen's eyes squeezed shut, and he took a deep breath. "So am I," he said softly.

Rising to his feet, Alistair settled himself onto the bed next to Cullen. "Do you have anyone to talk about her with? Anyone at all?"

After a moment of forcing himself to consider the question, Cullen finally said, "I do, I just…" His voice trailed off.

"-haven't actually talked to anyone. No, no, I get it," Alistair said with a sigh. "After I left the Wardens and Ferelden, it took me a long time to find anyone to talk to. Well… to _listen._ All the way to Kirkwall, in fact." He glanced at Cullen. "Some fool of a Knight-Captain, actually."

Cullen shook his head. "Truer words were never spoken." Blinking slowly, he pushed himself forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. "I remember how I pitied you," he admitted. "I mean, you weren't the _best_ Templar recruit, but you were a solid one. But then you became a Warden and had the bad luck to be with Amell." Cullen shuddered slightly. "That man..."

"The less said of the _Hero,_ the better," Alistair said in a neutral tone, then frowned. "Though… that reminds me. Leliana, is she… well?"

Pressing a hand to his forehead and trying to will the growing throbbing away, Cullen asked, "How do you mean? She serves the Inquisition with dedication, as we all do."

"It's just that the last time I saw her, she was-" Alistair paused, then shook his head. "Maybe I'll just talk to her myself. We did travel together for quite a long time, after all. And besides, that's not the point, is it? The _point_ is that… Well, you listened to me when no one else would. If you need someone to talk to…"

Craning his neck to look at Alistair, Cullen asked, "Why are you here anyway?"

"I'm the Warden who's been working with Viscount Hawke, remember?" Alistair asked. "Fine fellow. Knows _all_ the jokes about drunks, you should hear him when he's on a roll." The sarcasm in Alistair's voice was palpable, enough to make Cullen chuckle. "But, as I learned during the Blight, you learn to work with the people who want what you want no matter how much - or little - you like them _personally._ So… that's why I'm here. Because the one thing I _do_ have left in the world, the Grey Wardens, are… well… getting into more trouble than they really are prepared to handle, and the trouble leads back to Corypheus." He sighed and stood, beginning to pace along the bottom of the bed. "I'm not sure what the leadership of the Inquisition is like right now, but Hawke and I decided you need to know what's happening."

"Where's the Viscount now?" Cullen asked, tensing up. True, he'd fought alongside the man, but that hadn't made their relationship an _easy_ one.

"With that mage from the Imperium. The one with that green thingie in his hand now." Alistair paused his pacing. "Dairren?"

"Dorian," Cullen said, then started to stand. "Dorian of House Pavus. And _please_ tell me you didn't leave the two of them alone together."

When he swayed and started to tip over, Alistair quickly stepped to his side and grabbed Cullen's arms. "This is _really_ one of the worst places you could fall from," he said with a deep chuckle, "and I _don't_ want to explain how I let the Commander of the Inquisition Forces accidentally fall to his death, all right?"

Cullen chuckled weakly as he leaned into Alistair for balance. "Not my intention."

"So perhaps you should _go to bed?"_ Alistair said pointedly. At Cullen's sigh, he reached past the man and tugged down the blankets, then pushed Cullen lightly. "In you go." As Cullen grumbled and climbed onto the mattress, Alistair asked, "Why were you so panicked about Hawke and this Dorian fellow, anyway?"

Cullen collapsed onto his stomach, eyes closing as he tried to ease the growing pounding in his head. "The Viscount… hasn't had the best luck with mages," he said softly.

"Huh. I don't recall anything in particular. I mean, the man's got a sharp tongue, but-"

"It was after you left," Cullen said curtly. _And something I definitely don't want to talk about._ "Thanks for helping me get up here," he said in a grateful tone of voice, both for distraction and because it was the truth. "I might have done something foolish, either at the tavern or here in the office."

Alistair grunted, and Cullen rolled over to find Alistair with his hands on his hips and staring down at Cullen's armor. "You _would_ have. Trust me, I know. The only difference would have been that people would forgive you for your behavior. You have good friends, Commander," Alistair added, giving Cullen a pointed look. "You should take advantage of the fact."

Cullen flushed at the mild reprimand, a bit of belligerence finally working its way through. "Easy enough for you to say," he snapped. "Easy enough for _anyone_ else to say."

"If you think you're the only person in the history of Thedas to lose the one person that made life worth living," Alistair said mildly as he bent down to pick up the breastplate, "you'd better think again, Commander." Straightening, he headed to the ladder and awkwardly lowered himself over the edge, breastplate balanced on one shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow, Commander. There's a lot you need to know, when you're capable."

The last stinging comment found no target, as Cullen was still dwelling on Alistair's first sentence. _You'd better think again._ For some reason, those words stuck in his mind, and all he could think of was Mailani smiling up at Dorian on the battlements in that odd dream he'd had the night before, and the depth of sadness in Dorian's voice just before Cullen had awoken. _The one person that made life worth living._ Did Dorian have any friends? Suddenly the question seemed important to ask, even if he had no answer.

The question followed him into his dreams, making them even more restless than usual.


	6. Dream a Little Dream

Dorian wasn't sure how long he wandered in his slumber before he realized he was in the Fade. All mages knew they visited the Fade in their sleep, of course, and learned to ward their dreams as a result. This, though, this was… _different._ This wasn't his mind recalling embarrassing moments of the past, or the lure of a demon, or a nightmare of his father from which he invariably woke to lying in a pool of his own sweat. No, this was a _waking_ dream: he walked the Fade in his sleep, a state both intriguing and quite, quite dangerous.

And highly unusual, if his own experience and study was any indication.

The landscape shifted and changed around him as he walked, though he could not perceive the pattern of the changes. One moment he saw men in armor practicing their weapon and shield work in a large room with a wooden floor, the next he saw vague figures moving through gloomy corridors with walls of large, grey bricks. The clash of swords striking shields turned into wails of horror, and the sound of his footsteps suddenly carried little splashes as he walked through pools of a dark liquid, which Dorian realized with a grimace was blood.

Random events and visions were not unheard of in the Fade, of course, so Dorian simply noted what was going on around him without taking especial heed. The sight of a man kneeling, surrounded by demons and shouting at them to stop invading his mind made the mage pause only because there was a vague familiarity somewhere in the scene. Then they vanished, replaced by a horde of rampaging Qunari destroying everything in their path in some unknown city.

It was only when a familiar face suddenly appeared that Dorian paused, arrested by the sudden appearance of what seemed to be a younger version of Viscount Hawke - the man who had occupied much of Dorian's attention the previous day. This Hawke was angry and defiant as he glared at the man to whom he flung the words, "Mages have been systematically abused by the Templars for a thousand years."

Dorian's eyebrow rose, resisting the urge to interject himself into the conversation with the comment of, "Only in the south." Partially it was because he knew he was in the Fade, but it was also because he realized that Hawke wasn't the only familiar face in this new tableau before him.

"Mages cannot be treated like people," declared the man in Templar armor standing across from Hawke, in a temper and tone quite familiar Dorian. Cullen seemed even more severe here in the Fade than he was in life, but the words and the conviction behind them rang true. "They are not like you and me," Cullen continued, "They are weapons. They have the ability to light a city on fire in a fit of pique."

 _Ah. Well, that explains a great deal,_ Dorian thought sadly. Not that Cullen had ever truly _hidden_ his past status as a Templar, but to hear him - or even a simulacrum of him - say what seemed to be such a common southern misconception about mages… Well, it reinforced that feeling of unease he'd felt around the man. As Dorian turned away, however, Cullen cried out and fell to his knees, one hand raised as if to ward off danger.

Hawke began to laugh and circle Cullen, with every step changing until he was someone else entirely: an older woman, elegant with hard-edged pride etched into a face framed by pale hair, dressed in Templar armor and carrying a large red blade which seemed to _sing._ "Look at all this," the woman snarled, gesturing around them. Dorian couldn't help but do so, and saw more bodies, more blood, and more death. "Magic is a cancer in the heart of our land, just as it was in the time of Andraste. And like her," the woman paused her circle around Cullen, lowering her blade to rest on Cullen's neck, "we are left with no choice but to purify it with fire and blood."

"No, Knight-Commander," Cullen gasped. "We are _protectors,_ not murderers _."_

"I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!" The woman hefted her sword, then drove it down - and both woman and weapon vanished just before the blade bit into Cullen's neck.

Dorian stepped back as the Fade changed around him once more. Oddly, Cullen remained, but he also changed: the Templar armor shifted to more familiar fur and cloth over a standard breastplate, and his face grew pinched with pain and covered with a sheen of sweat. Shakily he pulled himself to his feet, every movement speaking of a torment whose cause was hidden. "I never meant for this to interfere," he said in a hoarse voice.

As if the words were a trigger, agony suddenly flared into life in Dorian's left arm, and he sank to the ground with a gasp as green light consumed his hand. A cold wind swept around him for a moment, then left, carrying the pain away but leaving him shuddering on the ground.

"I believe you," a soft voice replied, and Dorian froze for a moment as the shock of recognition coursed through him. Slowly his eyes sought the source of those simple words, though he knew who it was before he found her standing next to him, framed by odd greenish sunlight which washed out the details. It didn't matter, of course. He'd know the voice anywhere, even in a blizzard. The ache moved from his hand and head to his heart, and he pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to remind himself that it was _not_ Mailani who even now crossed the room to approach Cullen.

"For whatever good it does," Cullen said in a flat voice. "Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them. You asked what happened to Ferelden's Circle? It was taken over by abominations."

Tearing his gaze from Mailani, Dorian instead stared at Cullen. The Commander had been in Ferelden during the Blight, Dorian knew that, but he had never heard the details. As Cullen continued talking about his past, as Mailani comforted his pain and his confusion, Dorian found himself frowning more and more, and not simply because of what he heard. His complex mind took those words, of course, those little bits of information about Cullen, and filed them away for later pondering. More importantly, though, he came to the realization that this wasn't some shade, or a passing spirit, or even a random occurrence of the Fade. While that wasn't - couldn't _possibly_ be - Mailani, the man with her was most _definitely_ Cullen.

Yet… how could that be? Only a _somniari_ could walk the dreams of another, particularly without an invitation, and Dorian knew he was _not_ such a mage. Yet, as Cullen spoke, Dorian realized that he hadn't been seeing random scenes pulled from the ether of the Fade: he had in fact borne witness to events in Cullen's life as the Fade had shaped itself around the man's dreams, a feat which should have been impossible without a _great_ deal of ritual and magical expenditure.

A change in Cullen's tone brought Dorian's focus back to the two in front of him, but he found he could not ignore the pain in the man's voice. "But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I - if I cannot endure this…"

 _If I cannot endure this…_ It was like an echo, an echo that fell on Dorian's ears as well as his mind, and slowly he turned as again the Fade shifted around him. This time, however, it was not Cullen's mind the Fade latched onto for inspiration. No Fereldan would ever have such intimate knowledge of the estates of House Pavus in Qarinus, after all, where Dorian had spent the better part of two years locked away from the world. This room he remembered all too well, sparse as it was. Only a chair and table, a single candle, and no windows, no comfort.

No hope.

His breath caught when he saw _himself,_ seated at that table with his face buried in his hands, trying to ignore the stern-faced man who paced around him, to hold on to his sense of self even as the harsh words and harsher disapproval struck blows at every foundation of his soul. Two years he had been held there by his father, two years of browbeating and invective and guilt and self-doubt, two years where all he had had to cling to were memories and his own thoughts.

"You're a disgrace to House Pavus, Dorian," Halward grated, the disappointment evident in his voice. It was not the first time Dorian had heard it, of course - it had been a running theme in the privacy of their estates for many years. But hearing his father say it each and every day somehow did not make the words sting any less, and it was but a part of the lashing his father had heaped upon him during those two years.

Dorian forced himself to breathe slowly as he watched Halward lean onto the table, pressing in close so that the man seated there could not possibly ignore his words. "I raised you to be the next Archon, and instead you've become the laughingstock of the Imperium. Feckless, selfish, and thoughtless: that is what you are now." He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. When he received none, he leaned even closer and growled, _"Useless."_

Dorian remembered his thoughts in that moment. It had been days since he'd been allowed out from that room, a last push to try to get him to succumb to Halward's will before resorting to more extreme measures. No sleep, little food, and no alcohol had left his thoughts scattered and dim. He remembered the warring urges to either blast his father with magic or to beg for forgiveness. Somehow, he had managed to simply do nothing, to _endure._

"Very well, Dorian." Moving to the door, Halward set his hand on the wood before stopping to look back at his son. "You leave me no choice." Even now, the sense of finality in the words sent a shiver up Dorian's spine, made that much worse as he recalled the precise nature of his father's last resort, and what the man had been willing to do to force Dorian to obedience.

Halward left the room, slamming the door behind him, and Dorian watched as the man at the table lifted his head from his hands to reveal wet cheeks and reddened eyes. Unconsciously, Dorian reached up to wipe his own dry cheeks in a mirrored motion with his younger self as their lips moved in concert: _"If I cannot endure this, I will cease to be."_

The room abruptly disappeared around him. His ears filled with the sound of the wind whistling over the battlements of Skyhold, while an odd green sunlight replaced the dimness of the single candle. He didn't move, though, not sure what to think of what was happening, until he heard Mailani's voice once more from behind him. "Is it always that bad?"

For the briefest of moments, Dorian thought she was talking to him, and the thought made Dorian smile despite the ache. When he turned around, however, it was to see Mailani settle her hand on Cullen's arm, a little line of worry marring her forehead. She _had_ worried about Cullen quite a bit, after all, a fact which Dorian had teased her about frequently.

"The pain comes and goes," the Commander replied. "Sometimes I feel as if I'm back there. I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

Mailani smiled and reached out to touch his cheek gently. "I'm just glad you're all right."

A smile came to Cullen's face as he looked at her before turning to take in the vistas around Skyhold. "I am. I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was… not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened."

Dorian stared at the man as he heard words coming from Cullen's mouth which could so very easily have come from his own. He'd escaped Qarinus, yes, but he'd never truly managed to escape his own past, both who he'd been and what he'd done. The decision to come to Ferelden, to seek out Alexius, had been an attempt to break the cycle he often lost himself to, the futility of seeking pleasure and finding only emptiness.

It had been Mailani who, gentle and encouraging, had pulled him from that cycle and given him a new focus, a new purpose: a worthy life. It could be argued that the Inquisition was his new purpose, but truly, all he had wanted was to ease Mailani's burden. For all the reasons they should have hated each other, the Tevinter mage and the Dalish archer, she had found and cultivated the one reason for them not to: friendship.

His eyes stung as he watched her with Cullen, watched her smile and ease his pain as she had with Dorian, though he did avert his gaze when she leaned in to kiss the Commander tenderly. Watching such a tender moment seemed an invasion, even if only one of the people in front of him was _real._

As he glanced away, the urge to leave the Fade settled over him. In all honesty, he should have departed long ago. He was a mage, after all, and there were techniques for leaving the Fade without resorting to brute force or waiting to wake up.

Drawing his wits about him, Dorian concentrated on getting _out_ of the Fade, forcing his mind down the path which would put him back in his body in the waking world and out of the land of dreams. It wasn't until he'd reached the clarity he needed to return to Thedas that the suspicion about the true nature of the mark on his hand, a suspicion which had sprung into being that morning in his bedroom, abruptly returned full force, and he whipped around to look at Mailani.

Cullen was still gazing at the world beyond Skyhold, but Mailani's eyes were latched onto Dorian. Instinctively the mage reached out to her with his left hand, and her own lifted in response. For a moment, the green light in their palms pulsed and glowed with the same rhythm, the same heartbeat, and then her mouth moved in a whisper, the words terrifyingly audible even at this distance and despite the nature of the Fade itself.

 _I'm so sorry._

Then, without further ado, Dorian was plucked from the Fade and flung back to the waking world.


	7. Regret

Air rushed into Dorian's lungs as he woke from that push out of the Fade, eyes flying open even as his left hand flared with pain. _Mailani?_

"Does it always do that in the morning?" a deep voice asked from nearby. "Your hand, I mean, before you get any funny ideas."

Dorian started, then yelped as that little twitch made him to roll out of bed and onto the floor. Bare skin struck cold wood, and he quickly wrenched himself to his feet, eyes wide as he stared at the man lounging in his bed. The _naked_ man lounging in his bed, a blanket pulled up in a semblance of modesty that seemed to ill fit him. "Hawke?"

"Back to using family names already? Was last night such a terrible ordeal?" The man chuckled, his eyes roaming over Dorian's body. "I suppose Hawke is better than Viscount, at that." Before the mage could respond, though, Hawke's eyes settled on the green glow at Dorian's side. "It wasn't doing that last night. Not when we were otherwise occupied, anyway."

"Didn't it?" Dorian asked, mind racing. The dream had been so thoroughly distracting that he had to force himself to recollect the night leading up to it. At first all he could remember was the drinking, but then he remembered the rest of it, and cleared his throat to cover the abrupt memory. "Ah, I wouldn't know." The words slipped out before he could stop them, though Hawke's boisterous laugh made him smile. "That…wasn't _precisely_ what I meant to say."

Hawke snorted. "Trust me, if we're going to exchange tales of pathetic love lives, I would win the contest, title, and crown in the matter, especially when it comes to mages." For a moment, Hawke's face darkened, and he quickly looked away. "But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that."

Though tempted to let the matter lie, Dorian couldn't help but wonder - and the specification of _mages_ had him a little concerned, based on what had happened last night. Slowly he settled down on the bed again, a little frown on his face. "You'll forgive me if I pry, but-"

Hawke waved the comment off, sighing heavily. "No, no, I'm used to people being curious. You simply have a better reason than most to ask." He turned back to Dorian, hazel eyes just as arresting now as they had been after they'd shared a few drinks in the secret study the day before. "Anders was my lover."

Dorian's brows rose. He wasn't as intimately aware of the details surrounding the conflict between the Southern mages and Templars as perhaps he should be, but even he knew of the explosion in Kirkwall, and the name of the man who had caused it. _And his ultimate fate._ "I-I never knew."

"I didn't want it to become part of his story. I don't think he would have appreciated it." Hawke frowned, his gaze growing distant as he continued, "I'm Viscount of Kirkwall, sometimes called Champion, and Anders traveled with me. That is common knowledge, but that's not _all_ we were. We were lovers, then more. Or so I thought - sometimes it was hard to tell. For every tender moment, there was a vicious argument to go with it. Mages were mistreated, yes, but his methods, his rhetoric…I could only go so far with him down that path. Justice..." Hawke's face twisted, and he fell silent for a long while. When Dorian opened his mouth to ask if Hawke would prefer to speak no further on the matter, Hawke reached out and set his finger on Dorian's lips, silencing the effort. "Never forget that justice can all too easily turn to vengeance," he said softly.

Sensing that Hawke was waiting for an answer, Dorian nodded slowly. Only then did Hawke lower his hand, a grim look on his face. "I had nothing to do with his actions against the Chantry. He refused to discuss his plans with me, because he knew what my response would be. And he was right." Hawke sighed. "I'm not proud of what I did, though I cannot say I truly regret my decision. But it seemed better, afterwards, for people not to know of what had been between the two of us. Let his legacy remain as a martyr against the Chantry, for the Circle. I don't need to be part of it."

Dorian remained silent for a long while, considering the other man carefully. Their nakedness leant a certain vulnerability to the situation, despite what Hawke had just confessed, and he felt a grudging sympathy where otherwise he might have felt none. Finally Dorian cleared his throat. "You'll understand if I don't condone your action, but I think you might be wrong about saying you do not regret it."

"Oh, I regret his death. I regret the need for it. But my decision? No." Hawke shook his head. "That I cannot regret, or I would be tacitly approving the deaths of hundreds of innocents. You weren't there, Pavus. You didn't see what he did, what he set into motion."

"Perhaps not, Hawke, but I have seen quite a bit of the conflict since arriving in the South," Dorian pointed out. "Certainly you can't expect me to accept that condemning a mage to eternal confinement is a reasonable response for them being born with the ability to light a candle with a flick of their fingers." He did so, a minute motion that set alight the candles spread throughout the room.

Hawke wrinkled his nose, then sighed. "Family names it is, then. Still, I suppose there are worse ways to end a long drought. For what it's worth, it is not magic itself I fear. Having a father and a sister who were both mages will do that for you. I had my reasons, though, for all of it. Don't we all?" With a shrug, Hawke rolled out of bed. "So you'll set up a meeting with your Advisors, then? They'll want to hear what we discussed last night. You know." Hawke gestured around the room. "Before the wine came up with better ideas."

"Clever wine," Dorian murmured as he glanced at the haphazard scattering of clothing, empty bottles, and toppled furniture. _Clever, perhaps, but not wise._ "And yes, I'll set up a meeting. Where will I be able to find you?"

"That little underground study works as well as any other place," Hawke said with a shrug as he began to pick up his clothes. "Though I would appreciate it if you could set aside some quarters for me. I believe you even mentioned something along those lines before dragging me in here."

"Naturally. I'll arrange for them right away, _Your Grace,"_ he said in a teasing tone. He wanted to keep things friendly, so as to avoid antagonizing the man. Hawke _was_ the Champion of Kirkwall, after all. Still, Dorian he couldn't deny he'd be happier to see the man gone from his room. What had seemed a brilliant idea while under the haze of alcohol seemed far less so in the bright light of a new morning, _particularly_ after such an unsettling conversation.

"Good." As Hawke pulled on his clothes, he glanced up at Dorian. "And I'd appreciate it if you would keep that particular conversation to yourself. As I said, I'd prefer to keep my relationship with Anders out of his story. Even Varric respects that decision."

 _Even_ Varric? _Odd way to put it._ "I give you my word that none shall learn of it from me," he promised somberly. His next words were much lighter in tone. "Though I wouldn't recommend it for general _morning after_ conversation material for you."

Hawke laughed loudly at that, then winked at Dorian. "I'll keep that in mind. You know, in case I have any other ill-advised one night stands." Hawke shifted to look in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair to attempt some semblance of order. "Not that I have anything against you, mind, but I think we both might have reconsidered had the wine not been flowing quite so freely."

"Enjoyable as it was, I tend to agree. I'm not really in a position for-" Dorian paused, unsure how to phrase it without offering possible insult.

"Compromise, political or otherwise. I understand." Hawke turned to face him, leaning back against the bureau with his arms folded in front of him. "I envy the man who ultimately ends up in your bed, but for now we should both avoid compromise of any sort. Which is why I hope you remember my request."

Dorian was impressed. There weren't many with enough authority in their tone in such a situation to turn a favor into an order without actually saying so. Ignoring the thinly veiled threat, he simply smiled and nodded in return. "Naturally. My memory is, after all, as perfect as the rest of me. Or not, when necessary." He put a finger to his lips to indicate his intent to remain silent on the matter, and offered a cheeky wink to Hawke.

Hawke's shoulders lowered just a small amount, and he nodded. "I'll see you later, then. Oh, and make sure Alistair is at the meeting, too. He's the Warden who's traveling with me, if you recall. He's not the most reliable fellow in the world, but he knows more about the Wardens and their problems than I do. Your Advisors will want to hear what he has to say."

"Noted," Dorian said with a nod.

"For now I'll leave you to your normal morning routine." Pushing himself away from the bureau, Hawke headed towards the door, then paused for a moment. "And keep in mind what I told you yesterday. Your position is precarious here. Wishes and rainbows aren't going solve your problems." He looked over his shoulder at Dorian. "You need me."

And with that lingering in the air behind him, Hawke left the room.

Dorian took a deep breath and collapsed back on the bed. It had been a _long_ time since he'd had such an ill-advised liaison. _"Fasta vass,"_ he muttered under his breath. The headache he'd been ignoring since being pushed from his dream suddenly came raging to the fore, and he winced. "Maker preserve me, but I hope I don't come to regret this."

After another few seconds of fretting, Dorian's left hand began to throb, and reflexively Dorian groaned and began to move. "All right, all right, I'm getting up," he grunted. As he gained his feet, he idly wondered why he'd reacted in quite that manner. The change from horizontal to vertical made the pain in his head spike, however, so he dismissed the odd thought and stumbled to where he stored the elfroot tincture he kept for just such occasions.

Despite the ache in his head, though, he knew precisely _who_ he was going to visit once he was ready. And it _wasn't_ the Iron Trio. The very idea of discussing his rather unwise liaison with any of those three ladies filled him with dread, _particularly_ Cassandra. _No, no, best to seek out another expert first._

* * *

He found Varric standing in front of the fireplace in his little corner of the Hall that most now called the Storyteller's Corner. The dwarf seemed to be in a pensive mood, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the flames dance and flicker, and normally Dorian would have left the dwarf to his own devices. This morning, however, that simply was _not_ an option.

Still, he had to be cautious: the eyes were on him once again. Watching, waiting, perhaps even hoping for Dorian to make that one mistake they could use against him. Hawke hadn't been wrong, unfortunately, about Dorian's precarious position, and Dorian kept that in mind as he entered the Hall and moved to Varric's side, each movement a study of a man at ease and quite cheerful. Normally, of course, he would have headed to the library, or, more recently, to the War Room, but Varric had enough visitors that his own presence shouldn't raise too many eyebrows. Or so he hoped.

As he came to a halt next to Varric, he mimicked the dwarf's posture and settled his hands behind his back. "A word?"

Varric grunted and glanced up at him. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Dorian reddened slightly, something about the twinkle in the dwarf's gaze making him wonder if perhaps the relocation to his room last night had, indeed, been observed by _someone._ "If you don't have time-"

"No, I have time, Sparkler. I have plenty of time." Varric casually glanced to the main door, then gave a little shrug. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs. Why don't we go check out the ramparts? Isn't that one of your duties now? To make sure they're…I don't know, impregnable or something?"

"An excellent point, my dear Varric," Dorian said, knowing full well that Varric would never suggest such a thing unless he wanted to make sure they weren't overheard. "I'm not quite sure why I haven't thought of that all-important duty. Shall we?" He gestured to the door.

They chatted amicably about books and past bets as they strolled down into the courtyard and then up to the battlements. Dorian nodded and smiled at the guards they passed, more than a bit surprised when most of them smiled back. That _certainly_ hadn't been the case before. Though curious, his time with Varric was important enough that he couldn't really stop to pursue the matter. He did, however, tuck it away into his complicated mind for later analysis.

Varric led him to a part of the battlements that was more a landing than a rampart, and moved to lean on the wall where it overlooked the courtyard. As Dorian settled in beside him, Varric said softly, "This is where Mailani met Hawke for the first time."

 _That_ got Dorian's immediate attention, of course, though he kept his reaction reserved. "Ah, yes, Hawke. Quite the fellow, isn't he?"

"That's one way to describe him, yeah." Varric drummed his fingers on the stone for a moment. "There are others, of course."

"Oh, certainly. Confident comes to mind." When Varric only snorted and shook his head, Dorian continued his list. "Knows how to handle authority. Intimidating. A bit…dangerous for mages, perhaps."

Varric didn't immediately respond to Dorian's fishing, but he did sigh and shift his footing. When he next spoke, Dorian recognized the caution in his voice. "One doesn't become Viscount of a city like Kirkwall easily. That business with the Chantry…It left shadows, you know?"

"I can well imagine," Dorian assured him. "It would be difficult to recover from something like that."

"Especially for Hawke." He frowned. "Except…not really. You have to know him as well as I do to know why, of course." He glanced up at Dorian, and his voice got softer. "Did he mention Blondie?" Then, before Dorian could ask him to clarify, he added, "The Chantry guy."

Dorian just dipped his head in a short, curt nod, and Varric heaved another sigh.

"That's what I thought. I saw you two together last night, and…" Varric gave Dorian a sidelong glance. "No offense, Sparkler, but you looked like you weren't really the one making the decisions."

Wincing, Dorian fought the urge to rub his neck. "The Viscount and I may have shared a bottle or two of some rather excellent wine, yes."

"Uh huh. Well…I'm not one to judge, and Hawke isn't a good target for that kind of thing anyhow. But you've been a good Wicked Grace partner-"

Dorian snorted. "Which means you've been able to fleece me out of enough money to pay for all your writing materials for a year."

That made Varric grin. "Maybe. The point is that you've been…well, a friend. And I don't have a lot of those." His eyes narrowed, and he muttered, almost too quiet for Dorian to hear, "Hawke made sure of that." Before Dorian could comment, he looked back up at Dorian. "I don't think it's a good idea to go into too much detail, but let's just say that you should be cautious around Hawke. _Really_ cautious."

"The kind of cautious that avoids stumbling into my room with him in the wee hours of the morning?" Dorian guessed.

 _"Especially_ that kind of cautious, yeah." A grimace crossed Varric's face, though it faded back to a neutral expression quickly enough. "Look, he and I, we went through some serious shit in Kirkwall together, and he's saved my life a few times, but…" Varric looked guilty for a moment, then shook his head. "You're a mage. I'm just saying…be careful, okay? You're doing a pretty good job at getting a handle on the whole Inquisition thing. Don't make a mistake just because the Champion of Kirkwall has decided to grace us with his presence. Fair enough?"

Nodding slowly, Dorian puffed his cheeks full of air. "Quite." He paused, not entirely certain that his next question was _wise._ Finally, he gave in to the impulse and asked, "I rather think it important that I know more about the shit, as you called it. Can you-"

"Not yet," Varric said, cutting him off. "Later. When you're- When the time is right, you know?"

 _Interesting answer._ It was one Dorian had to accept, however, and he did so with a gracious inclination of his head. "Naturally. What better time could there possibly be?"

Varric chuckled as he pushed himself upright. "Right. Trust me, when that time arrives, we'll be talking again. Until then, we'll just talk about how much money you owe me." He offered a sly grin. "I'll even split a bottle of wine with you next time we play Wicked Grace, because I'm just that kind of guy."

"Oh, thank you, how generous of you," Dorian drawled as he, too, straightened. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I want to wake up with a hole in my coin purse."

"Any time, Sparkler. Any time," Varric said expansively.

As they turned and, by mutual unspoken agreement, headed back to the courtyard, Dorian said in a hushed whisper, "Thank you, Varric. I will be cautious."

"Good," the dwarf replied just as quietly.

They didn't speak again, though Varric gave him a friendly enough nod before he left Dorian in the courtyard to return to his normal spot in the Hall.

With a pensive sigh, Dorian glanced at the door of Cullen's office. The man had been in Kirkwall, after all - perhaps he would be able to offer yet another perspective on Hawke. As he mounted the steps to Cullen's office, however, the door opened and a vaguely familiar man stepped outside, blinking up at the bright sun for a moment.

 _That man..._ "Warden Alistair?" Dorian called, hurrying up the remaining steps.

"That's me," Alistair said cheerfully, then tilted his head. "Hang on, you're that mage, right? The one with the funny hand thing."

Dorian pressed his lips together in amusement, then chuckled and nodded. "In the flesh, even if it glows on occasion." Lifting his left hand, he flexed his fingers as the familiar green light emerged and swirled around him.

For a moment, he thought he heard a soft giggle, but the impression quickly passed as Alistair leaned closer and grunted. "Huh. And I thought I'd seen it all. Does it hurt?"

The question distracted him away from the momentary oddity, and he focused on Alistair, then his hand, as he considered his answer. "Hmm? Oh." Did it hurt? The better question would be, _Did it ever_ not _hurt?_ The first few days of agony aside, there was never a moment when he forgot about the mark. Even if the ache was dull and distant, he was still _aware_ of it with every breath and pulse of blood through his body. Did it hurt? How could he answer that? "It can be a bit of an inconvenience, but on the other hand, I don't need a light spell to read in the dark anymore."

Alistair's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Dorian knew the Warden had recognized the evasion. Rather than challenge it, though, Alistair just grunted. "That actually sounds familiar," he said cryptically, then turned as the office door opened behind him. "Ah, Cullen. I was beginning to think you'd gotten stuck to that desk again. I was ready to ask our friend here to help me pry you out."

Cullen chuckled as he shut the door behind him. "I don't think that will be necessary. Leliana and the Ambassador have taken to leaving little notes mixed in with the reports. _Don't forget to take a walk._ Or _Time for some fresh air."_ As Alistair and Dorian laughed, Cullen shook his head. "I'm just waiting for Cassandra to catch on and start leaving me little reminders to eat."

"Are you sure you only have _one_ sister, Commander?" Dorian asked with a teasing grin.

"Oh, Maker, don't remind me," Cullen groaned. "And I have two, actually, though only Mia is stubborn enough to track me down every time I forget to write her." He looked at Dorian curiously. "How did you know about my sister, anyway? I don't recall telling you about my family."

Dorian paused, mouth slightly open, as he tried to remember. "I'm not sure, actually. Perhaps I overheard it. I didn't _always_ stay ensconced in my little niche of the library, after all."

"Perhaps not, but you emerge from it about as often as I leave my desk," Cullen said with a grin. "At least according to Mai-" The grin faded, and Cullen cleared his throat as he looked out over the mountains. "That's not important right now," he said quietly.

An awkward silence fell over the trio, during which Alistair reached over and wordlessly put his hand on Cullen's shoulder. When Dorian inhaled to say something, Alistair shook his head slightly, and Dorian subsided, waiting for Cullen or Alistair to speak.

After a few moments, Cullen took a deep breath and reached up to squeeze Alistair's hand before removing it from his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Remember what I told you," Alistair said. "Don't keep it bottled inside. _Talk_ about her. Find someone who cared about her and let it out. It will help. I promise."

"It does help," Dorian offered. "I've talked with some of the others. It hurts," Maker, _did it hurt, especially at first,_ "but I think she would prefer you not to hold it within." A sad smile settled on his face as he became wistful for the presence of his dearest friend. "She never was one for keeping her emotions hidden, remember?"

Cullen chuckled as he bowed his head. "No. No, in fact, I remember one time when she-"

When he paused, Alistair nodded encouragingly. "Go on."

"I..." Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck, then smiled. "I was just thinking of that time she got angry at that merchant. Remember that?"

Dorian laughed. "The one who thought he could use one donkey instead of three to bring that overladen wagon of supplies to Skyhold? Oh, yes. I almost felt more sorry for the merchant than the donkey when she was done with him. _Almost."_

"After she finished yelling at him in front of everyone in Skyhold, I doubt anyone had sympathy for him. I was sorry for Josephine, though. She was the one who had to make sure the merchant's displeasure didn't leave the mountain." Cullen smiled, an expression overlaid with sadness, then looked at Dorian. "You were looking for me?"

"Ah, both of you, actually," Dorian said, pulling his mind back to the present. "Hawke wants to have a meeting with all of us. We three and the Iron Trio, at any rate."

"The Iron- Oh, the three ladies?" Alistair ventured, then smiled when Dorian tapped his nose and pointed at him to indicate he had guessed correctly. "Right. So we'll discuss the situation with the Wardens, then?"

"Among other things, yes. I thought perhaps we could meet in half an hour? That should give us time to gather everyone."

"Or sooner than that," Cullen said, then began issuing clipped orders. "Alistair, you can find Leliana in the top floor above the library - any servant can take you there. I'll fetch Cassandra. Josephine will, of course, be in her office - not difficult to find. Dorian, you find Hawke and bring him to the War Room. I think it better to discuss the matter as soon as may be, since we have already been delayed."

"Yes, Commander," Dorian said, then gave the man a cheeky salute.

Cullen feigned an impressive glower at Dorian. "Just get going, soldier. I'd better not be kept waiting!"

Dorian laughed as he turned. "I wouldn't _dream_ of it," he called back over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

Still, as he made his way through Skyhold - first to Josephine, so that she could arrange some quarters for Hawke, and then to the secret study to fetch the man himself - he had to wonder at his choice of phrasing. His dreams the night before… _It_ was _Cullen, I'm certain of it. But how?_

The thought made his hand twitch, and he glanced down at it, brows beetling. He'd had a pressing thought when he'd woken up, a thought which had been abruptly overwhelmed by the discovery of a naked Hawke in his bed. As he rolled his fingers and the green light pulsed, the core idea returned to him, and again he had to ponder: how _had_ he gotten the mark?

And again, he put the question aside. _Later._ He would ponder the matter later.

* * *

"So you're saying the Inquisition will do nothing about the Grey Wardens?" Alistair asked in a tight voice.

They had all gathered around the War Table, which was large enough to accommodate the additional numbers with ease. Refreshments had been brought but largely ignored as a discussion of the Wardens had quickly turned a bit more heated than Dorian had expected. Hawke stood with his arms across his chest, face impassive, as Alistair leaned against the table and glared at the Inquisition's Advisors, sparing not even Cullen.

"No, Warden Alistair," Josephine replied calmly in the face of the man's accusation. "I am saying we _cannot._ Our financial situation is poor, our troop numbers are diminished in size, and we have very few political favors upon which we can call to make up for that lack. The death of Inquisitor Lavellan dealt the Inquisition a serious blow, and it is one from which we are still recovering."

Hawke grunted and shook his head. "That's what you get for putting all your hopes on that little elf. Did you really not have a backup plan?" When that dismissive tone earned the Viscount a few icy stares from around the room, he put up his hands defensively. "All right, perhaps I could have worded that a little more nicely, but the fact remains that all of you pinned the hopes of Thedas on one person. That's always a bad idea, _especially_ when you put religion into the mix. Believe me, I know." He nodded to Alistair, whose face was grim. "So does Warden Alistair and, I daresay, you, Lady Leliana. You don't have any coalition, you relied far too much on morale and religious fervor to inspire the troops, and now you're paying the consequences."

"Are you quite finished, Viscount?" Cassandra said in clipped tones.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think that the Inquisition is exactly what Thedas needs right now. Maker, as long as it's anyone but me, I'm all for it. And you had a promising start - there's nothing to say that you can't rebuild what's been lost." Pausing, Hawke looked around the table at each person in turn. "You just have to figure out how to do that."

"And what, precisely, do you propose we do?" the Seeker demanded. "We have lost the support of the Chantry, our Templar allies are greatly weakened, and the mages have joined with the enemy. Our options are limited. Berating us about decisions we made in the past does little to aid us now."

Dorian had never heard Cassandra speak quite so coldly, save perhaps for the time he'd accidentally frozen her with a Winter's Grasp spell. Either Hawke's comments had really gotten under her skin, or he had already been there before the meeting had even started. _Didn't Mailani mention something about Varric telling Cassandra all about the events in Kirkwall?_ If that were true, and the events were as unsavory as the dwarf had hinted…Well, that was definitely a matter for later consideration.

Pulling his thoughts back to the meeting at hand, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. When they had all turned to him, some with surprise on their faces, he smiled faintly, then tried to ease the chill in the room. "Is it really a surprise when I wish to contribute something to the discussion? I thought everyone knew how fond I am of the sound of my own voice." When that earned him some grudging smiles, he continued. "At any rate, it is an excellent question. What is the Inquisition to do? I am not the Inquisitor, nor do I wish to be. That title belongs to Mailani, to the Herald of Andraste. However, like Andraste herself, Mailani would not wish her works to fail simply because she has left this world."

Sensing he had everyone's undivided attention, Dorian turned to Leliana and Cassandra, who stood next to each other. "We must find a way to reinvigorate the faithful. Would it be possible to change our narrative from the _Inquisitor_ being guided by Andraste's hand to the Inquisition? I don't think we'll ever convince anyone that I was chosen by Andraste, but perhaps we could persuade them to view the organization as such. We do have the writ of the last Divine, do we not?"

Cassandra nodded. "Justinia entrusted her Right and Left Hands with the writ, believing we would use it for the good of the Chantry - even if the Chantry, currently, does not hold the same belief."

"And it is something concrete, something physical, linking the Inquisition to the Divine, to the legitimate voice of the Chantry," Leliana said in a musing tone. "We were so focused on promoting the Herald of Andraste as the Inquisitor, we have perhaps neglected our task in establishing the authority of the Inquisition itself." Her long fingers tapped thoughtfully at her chin. "I have been distracted for too long in chasing rumors surrounding the Inquisitor's death. That is a message my agents can disperse." She looked at Josephine. "I will need your aid to craft it, of course, but he is right. That should be our task."

Josephine nodded thoughtfully, her pen tapping her clipboard. "For a message such as that, there may be one or two clerics whom I can contact. While they would never enthusiastically support a Tevinter," she smiled apologetically at Dorian, who gave her a little _what can you do?_ shrug, "they might extend their names to bolster the Inquisition as a whole, particularly if we emphasize Divine Justinia's writ." Her face grew thoughtful. "And we must not let Mailani's name fail. As Dorian said, Andraste herself did not lose the war after her death. Perhaps we could extend that belief to encompass Her Herald."

Cullen grimaced. "That smacks of religious manipulation. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with Mailani's memory being used in such a fashion."

"It does," Josephine replied with a sympathetic look on her face, "but if it helps us save Thedas, then we must not discount it as a possibility."

"I know, I just..." He sighed and shook his head.

Josephine's face softened. "Perhaps we could use it only if necessary?" she suggested, then turned to Dorian. "Do you have any more suggestions for us?"

Dorian, who had figuratively stepped back while they talked amongst themselves, nodded. "Commander," Dorian said, turning to Cullen. "You need to keep doing what you've been doing: promoting order in a world gone mad. The Hinterlands are free of mages and templars, but refugees in the Hinterlands still fill the Crossroads and Redcliffe both. As the Inquisition regains lost ground and the troops surge in number once more, I trust you to continue the task set on you by Inquisitor Lavellan. Keep the peace, and keep the populace safe."

Cullen straightened, splaying his hand on his chest as he bowed slightly. "Of course. I will not fail her memory."

Knowing that, to Cullen, those words were a stronger invocation than the name of the Maker himself, Dorian accepted the Commander's response with a nod, then moved on to the next person. "Viscount Hawke."

"Somehow I knew you'd think of me," Hawke said with a grin.

"How could I not?" Dorian said, winking in return. "You _have_ said you wish to help the Inquisition, have you not? It seems the time has arrived for us to call in those favors which haven't yet been negotiated."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You're going to ask for an alliance, aren't you?"

"Actually, I'm going to suggest that you act in both your roles: as Viscount and as Champion."

"Oh, this ought to be good." Hawke settled his arms on his chest again. "All right, let's hear what you have to say."

Dorian nodded. "As Viscount, you could offer an alliance which would be to our distinct advantage, particularly given the strong connections we each have to the Templars, you in Kirkwall and the Inquisition in Orlais. As Champion, you are beloved by the people." He laughed when Hawke and Cullen snorted in unison. "Deny it all you like, but the general populace hears the term _Champion,_ and they don't stop to wonder _why_ he's called that. The important thing is that you're a hero to them. If you were to endorse the Inquisition directly, and in a manner that our lovely Ambassador and cunning Spymaster can swiftly turn to our advantage, that would be of immeasurable value in lifting our sinking ship from the cold waters. Don't you agree?"

"I do. I just thought I would be the one who would have to suggest it." Hawke inclined his head. "You'll have your alliance, and your endorsement. I just don't want to be the only one doing all the heavy lifting."

"Perish the thought," Dorian said, putting his hand over his heart. Turning to Alistair, he added, "And you can help our Ambassador. You were in Ferelden in the Fifth Blight, after all. That was the last time the Grey Wardens called in those treaties of theirs, yes?"

Alistair blinked, obviously caught by surprise. "Yes, I was, but what does that have to do with the present situation? We're not in a Blight."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Hawke did tell you that the leader of this army we are up against is, in fact, one of the first darkspawn? One of the very magisters who dared to enter the Golden City and thus, according to your Chantry, brought the Blights to Thedas? A man, in fact, who may have an influence over the Grey Wardens not terribly unlike the influence the Archdemon has over the hordes in the Deep Roads?" He gestured to Alistair with a bow. "Perhaps you could explain to the class why the Treaties would not apply in this case?"

"It's not- I mean, he's not-" Alistair paused, face turning thoughtful. "I'll admit I didn't view it in quite that light."

"We have already attempted to use the Treaties to garner support, but recent events halted my progress," Josephine added. "With Warden Alistair's assistance - the same Grey Warden who fought at the side of the man who stopped the Fifth Blight - I am certain we could use the Treaties to the Inquisition's advantage."

Alistair's back straightened, and his expression grew determined. "As long as you're willing to protect me from the Grey Wardens who might come looking for me, I'll do that. It's better than waiting around doing nothing."

"You will have our full support in the interim," Josephine assured him. "And remember, all these efforts are to ensure the Inquisition has the wherewithal to help you investigate the Grey Wardens."

"I find it impossible to believe that Corypheus is not involved, considering what you told the Inquisitor," Dorian interjected. "We dare not be at anything less than our best when we return to the Western Approach to confront the Wardens."

That elicited a weary sigh from Alistair. "I don't like it, but I get it." His head bowed for a moment, and then he looked up at Dorian. "And when the Inquisition is back to full strength?"

Though Alistair likely didn't recognize the tension he'd just created, Dorian did, and the mage only had an instant to decide how to react. Dorian could either decide the Inquisition's role, consult with the Advisors, or give the matter over to them entirely. Each choice had a different nuance regarding his self-perceived role within in the Inquisition, in both the present and the future. Mailani, as much as he adored her, would simply not have realized the true nature of this inadvertent test.

And Dorian was not the only one who saw it.

In that moment before he responded, he knew why Josephine's fingers tightened around her quill, why Hawke smirked and Leliana frowned. He'd spent the last few days so carefully avoiding the idea of authority within the Inquisition that he'd managed to convince himself that a green glow in his palm meant little more than being turned into a glorified errand boy.

Yet he _had_ been the one to step forward in this meeting, issuing orders and deciding how best to build the Inquisition's strength. Surely he couldn't deny that implied a bit of assumed authority on his part.

So what would he do?

A gentle smile came to his face. The answer was simple, really, though it was, itself, another question: _what would Mailani do?_

With a nod, he turned to the Iron Trio and Cullen. "I believe once the Inquisition has returned to its former strength that we should aid Warden Alistair. Thoughts?"

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a glance, and something subtle relaxed in the latter's stance. After a small nod from the others, the Ambassador turned back to Dorian. "I believe that would be the best course of action for the Inquisition, yes."

Dorian nodded, accepting his part of the now shared authority, and turned to Alistair. "There you have it. The Inquisition will stand with you."

"Thank you," Alistair told him sincerely.

Setting his hands on his hips, Hawke looked pointedly at Dorian. "And what will _you_ be doing while we're all running around like nugs in a thunderstorm?"

"I rather think it's time I started pulling my own weight, don't you?" Raising his left hand, Dorian tilted his head as he regarded the fitful light which awoke. "This is an obligation I've been ignoring for far too long. There are quite a few rifts out there, and as many desperate cries for help." He set his hand down on the table, splaying it so that his fingers bridged both Ferelden and Orlais on the map. "It is time for me to venture forth."

There. That sounded bold enough. Hopefully he wouldn't come to regret the decision.

* * *

"Why on Thedas did I ever think this was a good idea?" Dorian shouted as he brought his staff around in a swift arc, blasting the approaching demons with a wave of fire. They'd stumbled upon this rift while exploring the ass-end of the Hinterlands in search of a place to rest following an ambush by three of the largest bears Dorian had ever seen in his life, and he was _not_ in a good mood.

"Don't ask me, Sparkler!" Varric yelled back, even as he hurled some grenades at some nearby wraiths. "I was perfectly happy getting my ass warmed by the fire in Skyhold!"

"Well, you're absolutely no help!" Dorian snarled as he hastily danced out of the way of the ice sleeting from the despair demon they fought. _"Kaffas!_ I'm getting slaughtered over here!"

Suddenly a huge axe appeared behind the demon, then slammed down into the thing's head. The demon gave a high pitched shriek, then collapsed to the ground. Taking no chances, Iron Bull chopped it once more, then grunted. "You're welcome, Vint."

Dorian quickly pointed his staff forward, sending a thin lance of fire into the shade that suddenly reared up behind the hulking Qunari. "Take that, you filth!"

"Hey!" Bull protested.

"Not _you,"_ Dorian snapped. He quickly formed a barrier around the warrior, then pointed towards where Cassandra stood, shield raised, before a towering rage demon. "Go help her. Varric and I will attend to the rest."

Iron Bull just nodded and ran towards the demon, bellowing "Next!" to attract its attention just before his axe swung into its torso.

Once the last demon was down and the rift sputtered into a semi-quiescent state once more, Dorian pressed his hand to his side and panted heavily. He couldn't quite remember when he'd been hit, but he could tell there was at least a broken rib and possibly worse. "Not the most impressive showing for my first rift," he groaned with a grimace.

Varric chuckled breathily as he walked up to pat Dorian on the arm. "It could have been worse. At least this time you didn't have to run halfway across the Hinterlands looking for reinforcements."

"True," Dorian admitted. "Maker, don't remind me."

Axe slung over his shoulder, Iron Bull strolled over. "Well? It isn't going to get any greener, and I personally don't want to see if a pride demon decides it wants to visit."

Dorian took a deep breath and nodded before stepping forward. As he approached the rift, the light in his hand awoke - which he'd expected - and then began to _burn_ \- which he had _not._ Every step took him closer to the dancing chaos in front of him, and every step made the heat intensify and spread.

 _Oh, Mailani, how did you stand this?_ He couldn't know if this is what she had felt when closing a rift, of course. Her entire bearing had always been full of determination, her slight frame displaying a strength that bespoke grim purpose seemingly at odds with her gentle smiles and enthusiastic hugs. She had always seemed a touch otherworldly when she'd wrestled with the rifts, and only now did Dorian understood why.

He lifted his hand as he'd seen the Inquisitor do at least a dozen times, yet nothing happened save for a sudden ache that surged down his arm. He kept his face as neutral as he could, trying to keep his uncertainty hidden as he desperately tried to find the mechanism. No matter what he tried, however, it refused to yield to him, and the torment grew without restraint. When the pain finally grew too great for his body to handle, the world began to dim.

The presence of the rift meant that the Veil was thin, a risk that mages were always told to avoid. As he was drawn inexorably to the Fade, his soul walked the line between the waking world and the other side of Veil with a delicacy that surprised even himself. It was only when he reached an equilibrium between the two, when the Veil wrapped around him like a snug blanket, that he felt a faint touch on his wrist, and a suggestion of breath against his ear. _Like this._

And, just like that, it happened: a wrenching sensation which sent a burst of energy directly from the Anchor to the heart of the rift. He struggled to comprehend exactly how the rift worked, how the mark affected it, but in the end, it seemed to come down to just wiggling his fingers, which was followed shortly after by a _boom_ as the rift exploded into plasmic debris.

 _Fascinating._ He didn't notice his knees hitting the ground, or the sudden impact as his body tipped over to lie still in the grass. The world was a distant place, unknowable and untouchable for now, and his eyes fluttered shut as his mind tried to understand why it felt like a kiss had just been placed on his cheek.

The last thing he remembered before the remainder of his consciousness slipped away was a soft susurration, so soft he almost didn't hear the words hidden inside.

 _I'm so sorry._


	8. Whispers

The sun beat down on the two men as they circled each other, watching for any sign of weakness. Above, the summer sun shone brightly, the heat weighing on Cullen more than the leather gambeson he wore. Sweat soaked through his armor and rendered his hair curly and damp, but his grip remained firm around the hilt of his sword as he watched his opponent carefully.

Too late he realized that he'd been maneuvered to face directly into the sun which, of course, was when Alistair chose to strike. Cullen barely raised his shield in time to ward off the sword whistling towards him, bashing it away with focused strength. In answer, his own blade thrust forward rather than swinging, causing the Warden to step back out of its reach. Pulling back before he could be caught in an over-extension, Cullen pivoted and bashed his shield hard into Alistair, using his leverage to push the man even more off balance. A final shove saw the man wavering on the edge of the practice ring before falling back with a startled yelp.

Cullen grinned as he sheathed his practice blade and moved forward, offering a hand to his sparring partner. "You're more than a bit rusty, Alistair," he said with a chuckle. "Not enough Darkspawn around to keep your skills sharp since the Fifth Blight ended?"

"Oh, hardy har har," Alistair muttered as accepted Cullen's offer. Their hands smacked together loudly before Cullen pulled him up, and for a few moments, they simply concentrated on getting their breath back. "Tell you what," Alistair finally said. _"You_ go take on a couple of ogres and then come back and tell me how eager I should be to go forth and find new darkspawn to kill. Go on," he urged, gesturing towards the gate. "I'll be here, cozied up in your office. I'll take those reports you complain about over a pack of shrieks any day, believe you me."

"Are you sure about that?" Cullen panted as he waved Alistair to follow him to some nearby benches. There were others waiting to use the practice ring, after all. "You haven't seen Leliana's reports. They're each a small battle in and of themselves."

With a laugh, Alistair accepted a water skin from a young elf boy standing in the shade of the _Herald's Rest,_ drinking deeply before he poured some on his head to cool down. "I can imagine," he said as he handed the water to Cullen to do the same. "From what I've heard, both of you have been rather busy of late."

Tugging off his gauntlets, Cullen tucked them into his belt and poured the last of the water over his head before raking his fingers through his hair. "That's one way of putting it." He looked out into the courtyard, noting the renewed bustling and activity, a sharp contrast to just a few short weeks ago. When Dorian had left, less than a score of people had gathered in the courtyard to see him off. Now...

Alistair followed his gaze. "There's more than when I first came here, by a fair margin. And morale is definitely improved a fair bit, as well." His lips pursed in thought. "I've also heard the mage's name on quite a few more lips. How long has he been running around, doing good deeds in the name of the Inquisition? Over a month, right?"

Cullen nodded, deep in thought. "Almost a month and a half, actually. He makes sure the others get to come back to Skyhold, but he hasn't done so himself."

"Smart move," Alistair observed. "They'll see it as dedication, keeping himself out like that, but also appreciate he didn't force the others. Little things like that get noticed, and remembered. He keeps saying he doesn't want to be Inquisitor, but..." Letting the thought trail into silence, Alistair shrugged and gestured the elf boy closer. "Another skin, please. The Commander used up the one I leant him."

"You mean the nearly empty one you gave me?" Cullen asked with a grin.

As Alistair chuckled and took the water, the boy looked up at Cullen. "Would you like another skin, Ser? Um, I mean Ser Commander!" he quickly corrected himself.

"I would indeed, thank you. What's your name, lad?"

The elf brightened. "My name's Taedor, Ser Commander. My mother and I just arrived last week, but my father has been serving the Inquisition since Haven! He works in the kitchen with Mother now, and I help here."

Cullen smiled. "You're doing good work. Keep it up."

"Thank you, Ser Commander!" Taedor said, attempting to give him a salute. "Father says we can't let the Herald or her Chosen down!" At that point, someone else came over to the benches, and Taedor hurried over to give him some water.

Swallowing harshly, Cullen sagged down to sit next to Alistair. His friend looked at him with a sympathetic expression as he patted Cullen's leg. "I hear that a lot, actually," he said softly. "I suspect Leliana's gently guiding hand."

"So do I," Cullen replied in hushed tones. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly. He knew Leliana would never want to _replace_ Mailani in the hearts and minds of those who served the Inquisition, but he also knew that the Inquisition would do better to have a figurehead. It made him supremely uncomfortable, though.

"You know," Alistair said in a thoughtful voice, "it doesn't have to be."

"Have to be what?"

"Leliana's doing. I mean, it's not like Mailani burst out of the Fade saying she was the Herald, is it?" Alistair mused. "That came later, after she closed a couple of rifts. At least, that's what Leliana told me."

"That's true," Cullen said slowly, brow furrowing slightly as he considered the ramifications. "I'm not actually sure where the term Herald came from. I admit, I've always thought it was Leliana's work."

"Not a bad guess, but you might want to ask her at some point. Maybe it would make you feel better about the whole thing. Or at least not _worse,_ if you already think she's started the rumor." Alistair patted his leg once more then gestured to the troops practicing in the courtyard. "To be honest, there are plenty of rumors flying around that _aren't_ of her making that reflect well of the man. Rescuing the soldiers imprisoned by the Avvar in the Fallow Mire-"

Cullen had to snort a laugh at the mention of that particular mission. "You should have read the report Dorian sent back with Scout Harding about that mission. I've never read _cold, miserable,_ and _pathetic as a puppy_ so many times in an official report in my life."

"Did he mention his nose?" Alistair asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm. No, actually. That was in Cassandra's report, not his." Now that he thought about it, the omission seemed odd.

"And yet that detail is running around Skyhold. For a man with a reputation for vanity, a broken nose acquired while saving Inquisition soldiers is seen as significant." Alistair nudged Cullen. "But you already knew that, I'm sure."

Nodding slowly, Cullen thought about the other things he'd heard them talking about. "Of course, the fact he can actually close rifts helps, too."

"And he's been very diligent about it. He's closed quite a few in only a month and a half."

Cullen knew that had also resonated with the troops at Skyhold. It was measurable, and it harkened back to… _before._ A small smile came to his lips. "Maybe the Inquisition can survive after all."

"More than survive," Alistair said. "I think we're looking at a force that has the power to help me. The Wardens, I mean."

Cullen grimaced. "You know we can't make a decision on that until Dorian gets back."

"But surely that will be soon?" Alistair ventured. "He's been gone for quite a long time, after all."

A missive had arrived the previous day, actually, stating that Dorian and those with him would be returning to Skyhold 'soon', but no exact date or time had been given or promised. As Cullen opened his mouth to answer, however, he caught sight of a familiar figure stalking towards them from the direction of the gate. Rising to his feet, he gestured Alistair to stand as well. "Hawke," he muttered in warning just as the man rounded the training circle and headed towards them.

"Commander," Hawke said as he approached. When Taedor offered the Viscount a water skin, as he'd been instructed, Hawke pushed him back with an annoyed sigh. "Not _now,_ boy." Uncaring of the way the lad staggered back and fell to the ground, Hawke came to a halt in front of Cullen and crossed his arms, looking the man up and down as Alistair rushed to help Taedor to his feet. "You're looking better than when I saw you last. Not quite so pale and timid."

Cullen's jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. _He's important to the Inquisition,_ he reminded himself firmly. _Or at least Kirkwall will be._ When he could trust his voice, he inclined his head. "You're looking a bit dusty and road-weary yourself, Your Excellency. I trust your journey was not in vain?"

Hawke barked a laugh, then nodded towards the main keep door. "Why don't you gather the ladies and that handsome mage friend of yours to hear the results? Not right away, though." He brushed some dirt off of his shirt. "I'd prefer to wash up first. Dust really isn't the best uniform for an official presentation."

"Dorian hasn't returned as of yet, Excellency," Cullen told him. "Shall I gather the rest of them?"

"Oh? I would have thought he'd be back by now. Those rifts must be intensely entertaining to keep his attention so long." Hawke frowned, then shook his head. "No. I'd rather talk to all of them at once, honestly. Any idea when he is due to return?"

"The last report we received from the field team only said _Soon,_ Your Excellency." Cullen gave an apologetic little shrug, albeit a stiff one. "I'm sorry."

With a snort, Hawke reached out and clapped Cullen on the shoulder, sparing none of his strength. "Don't give yourself a sprain trying to apologize, Commander. We both know apologies don't carry much weight when they come from _your_ lips, anyway." Ignoring Cullen's seething and Alistair's glare, he stepped back. "Just send a messenger to my quarters when he arrives, would you?"

"Of course," Cullen said through grated teeth.

With a smirk, Hawke turned and walked away, shoving Taedor aside without looking as he headed to his suite.

When he was out of earshot, Cullen snorted. " _Yes_ , ser," he muttered under his breath, then went to Taedor and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Commander Ser, but..." Taedor sniffed, bravely putting on a strong face. "Did I do something wrong, Commander?"

"You did everything you were supposed to do," Cullen assured him. "The Champion is just, ah..." His mind, for some reason, was offering a series of less than flattering phrases, and it didn't seem like a good thing to say in front of an impressionable young lad.

"Not the nicest man sometimes," Alistair supplied.

"Oh. Like my granther?" Taedor offered. "He gets grumpy when his knee acts up."

"Yes." _Except in Hawke's case it's his personality, not his knee._ Still, it seemed better to leave the matter at that. "Why don't you go drop off the empty skins with the tavern and get some full ones? The second shift of training is about to start."

"Yes, Commander Ser!" He gave Cullen a salute. "I'm here for the Inquisition!" Quickly he trotted off towards the _Herald's Rest_ to go about his duties.

Cullen sighed. "I'd better go back to my office and let the Iron Trio know that the Viscount has returned." That was _one_ good thing about always having a scout or two hovering outside his office, at any rate.

"You do that," Alistair said. "By the whiff of things, I'm long overdue for a bath."

Clapping Alistair on the shoulder, Cullen told him with a straight face, "That's always true, my friend."

"Oh, hardy har har," Alistair said, shrugging off Cullen's hand with a rolling of his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" Cullen nodded to Alistair, then set his feet in motion towards his office. Along the way, he made sure to talk to any soldiers and scouts he encountered, as well as dealing with the inevitable arrival of Jim. Cullen suspected the man's sole purpose in life was to shove reports in his Commander's face, and he couldn't help but give a little sigh as Jim did so now.

"This morning's Skyhold patrol reports, Commander!" Jim said with a crisp salute.

"Thank you, Scout." Cullen scanned the papers, brows furrowing slightly as he looked for anything out of the ordinary. "Any more sightings of giants?"

"No, Commander! Just a few bronto that have been reported to the hunters for later retrieval!"

Cullen managed to not smile in the face of the man's earnestness and nodded. "Thank you, Scout. Dismissed."

Jim executed another quick salute before marching away, and Cullen let his chuckle emerge as he set into motion again, analysing the reports as he walked. Around him, the rumble of conversation filled his ears with a constant hum. He heard snippets of the usual gossip, speculation about the Chargers, who could take on who in a practice round, complaints about the food, and other topics typical of satisfied, if slightly restless, soldiers. _It's time to rotate the companies between our major areas of influence again,_ he mused, and made a note to talk to the other Advisors about the matter.

"-but should we tell the Commander?"

Cullen's walk slowed, and he glanced up from his reports when those words struck his ears. As he tried to pinpoint the man he'd heard, a woman answered, "Isn't it just gossip, though? I mean...the Champion surely wouldn't do that, would he?"

"According to Baden, he would," the first man replied as Cullen located him and moved towards him. "I don't like it. The Chosen may be a Vint, but he's _our_ Vint."

The woman with him, whose back was to Cullen as he approached, nodded her head. "The Champion needs to back off, he does. You..." Her voice lowered, and Cullen had to strain to hear it even as he got closer. "You don't think that's why the Chosen hasn't come back to Skyhold, do you?"

"How would I-Commander!" The man said, back stiffening as he gave Cullen a crisp salute. The woman started and quickly turned to face Cullen, mirroring the man's actions.

"At ease." Crossing his arms across his chest, Cullen put a stern, but not angry, look on his face as he looked them over. This close, he recognized them - two solid soldiers who'd been with the Inquisition since Haven, and not prone to idle gossip. "Now, Lisbeth, Conrad-what is it you aren't sure you should tell me?"

The two exchanged a glance before Conrad nudged Lisbeth's foot. "Lisbeth is worried about some of the rumors going around, Commander."

Cullen shifted his stare to the woman without a word, a raised eyebrow making his order to talk more than clear.

Swallowing hard, Lisbeth nodded. "It's just a rumor, Commander. That the Champion and Ser Pavus passed an evening together, if you take my meaning."

Though he'd heard the rumor and had it confirmed by Leliana, Cullen still didn't see why it was a cause for concern - for these two, at least. After all, very few people knew Hawke beyond the story of the Champion of Kirkwall from Varric's book, and certainly not as well as Cullen did. Though he himself had several concerns should Dorian pursue Hawke further, he needed to know why his _soldiers_ were worried about it. "What of it?"

"It's just that…Well, you know His Excellency has spent quite a few days here in Skyhold between his trips elsewhere, Commander. And when he's here..." She glanced at Conrad, who nodded encouragingly, then looked at Cullen again. "There's some who've also spent an evening with the Chosen. You know, before…well, _before,_ when he'd had a bit much to drink and such? The Champion, well, he went and had _words_ with them. The men who'd been with Ser Pavus, I mean."

Cullen's brows drew together as he frowned. "Words?"

"Telling them to keep away from the Chosen from here on out," Conrad volunteered. "Spoke to one of them myself. Said the Champion smiled the whole time, but..." Giving a little shrug, Conrad shook his head. "There's smiles and then there's _smiles,_ Commander."

Oh, Cullen knew that particular smile of Hawke's _quite_ well, and his sense of unease increased. "So he's warning people away from Dorian?"

Both of them nodded, and Conrad added, "Not quite threatening, like, but making it plain that it would be best for them to keep their distance. And…Well, he's the Champion, so who's going to go up against him?"

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. _Damn._ "This _is_ something you should tell the Commander," he told the two of them. "And you should expect a visitor from someone else later, as well." As both Conrad and Lisbeth glanced up nervously at the window through which the Nightingale's crows flew, Cullen looked at the troops around them, wondering just how far this concern ran. "How widespread is the rumor?"

Lisbeth tilted her head slightly as she considered the question. "Not everyone knows, I'd say, but the rumor is spreading. And we're worried, Ser. The Chosen, we know him better now. He went in and rescued our people from the Avvar, he's fighting against the Venatori even though they're both from Tevinter, and more stories keep coming back every day of things that she'd be proud of, Commander. And he's doing it all in _her_ name, not his own, because it's the right thing to do. She said that about him before, that he was a right proper man even if he was a Vint, but…well, now we've all seen it for ourselves."

"He's carrying on the Herald's legacy without claiming it for his own," Conrad chimed in. "That's important, Commander. He knows the Inquisition is bigger than any of us. He's one of us now, and she chose him to continue her work. We want to take care of our own."

"And we will," Cullen told them firmly. "You have my word, and that of the Inquisition. Champion or no, Dorian is one of us now, and we will protect him as such."

The soldiers visibly relaxed, then gave Cullen a matched salute. "Thank you, Commander," Lisbeth said.

"Dismissed." After they had walked away, a deep frown settled onto his face as he considered what they'd told him. Though it had ended on a high note, the meat of the conversation left a bad taste in Cullen's mouth as he finished the journey to his office, and did nothing to lighten his mood. As he went through the motions of his ablutions using the cold basin of water awaiting him, then carefully set his hair to order and ate part of the cold breakfast left on his desk, his gaze grew more and more distant. By the time he sat at the chair behind his desk, he only had enough energy to lean back and let his head fall against the wall as he sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight on his shoulders, the hole in his chest, and the emptiness at his side. He forced himself to take a deep, slow breath, then another, and yet another. Finally his eyes fluttered open as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling above. "I promise I won't let you down," he murmured softly.

As his head slowly rose, his eyes wandered to the small square of slate he'd left propped up on his desk, its surface covered with a series of hatch marks. He added a line whenever he dreamed of Mailani, though he seemed to dream as much about Mailani with Dorian as he did about Mailani and himself recently. At first it had seemed odd, but now he simply accepted it. It was still a chance to remember Mailani, to see her, if only in his dreams.

And sometimes, that little reminder was all he needed.

With a final deep breath, he lifted his hands and took up his quill, dipping it into the ink as he penned notes to Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra regarding not only Hawke's return to Skyhold, but also Cullen's discussion with his soldiers. Hawke was never a man to take lightly on the best of days, but his behavior was enough to warrant a discussion, at least in Cullen's opinion.

It would keep them _busy_. Every moment of busy _now_ meant one less moment of emptiness _later,_ a lesson hard learned, and a habit hard earned. One step at a time, and eventually he wouldn't notice how many steps he took.

Eventually.

* * *

The day passed swiftly, interrupted in the mid-afternoon only by the return of Dorian and his team to Skyhold. The horn heralding their return rang out loud enough to break Cullen's concentration, and he quickly set his pen down so as to jog down the steps to greet them personally.

There were circles under Dorian's eyes as he slid out of his saddle with a wince, but he still managed a bright smile and clapped Dennet's back as the man came to grab the reins. "I think my hindquarters fit that saddle a little _too_ well after this many days in it," he said cheerfully, earning a dry chuckle from the stoic Horse Master. "But the steeds served us well. You have my thanks."

"I'll see what I can do about improving your seat," Dennet observed. "After all, my stables have filled up quite nicely in the last few weeks." He handed the horse off to a stable boy. "I'll always do my best for the Inquisition."

Dorian smiled and thumped his fist on top Dennet's shoulder. "Good man."

With a nod, Dennet turned and moved on to the next mount, leaving Cullen to step forward and catch Dorian's elbow as the man swayed slightly. "Let's get you to your quarters, shall we?"

"And hello to you as well, Commander," Dorian said with a weary smile. Nodding to where the Iron Bull was plodding away from the stable, he said, "I appreciate the offer, but Bull needs someone right now. You read the report, I presume."

Cullen nodded. "And Harding told us more," he said softly as he let go of Dorian's arm. "Bull a Tal-vashoth…I never would have thought it of him."

"It was the Qun or the Chargers, and I knew Bull would never remain himself if he chose the Qun," Dorian said softly. Absently he reached up and thumped his fist onto Cullen's shoulder, much as he had done with Dennet. As he swayed again, that fist flattened into a hand that gripped Cullen's fur hard as Dorian took a deep breath to steady himself. "It won't take long to get him a bit more settled, I promise. I just want to finish a conversation we started while on the way here."

"But you _will_ rest after that, won't you?" Cullen asked, concerned about the mage's health. "You've had quite the eventful month or so."

"I have, haven't I?" Dorian asked with a seemingly careless laugh. "Don't worry, Commander, I promise you that I am quite accomplished at pampering myself." His eyelid dropped in a slow wink as he took a careful step back. "After all, _someone_ should take care of me in the manner I deserve, hmm?"

A grudging smile came to Cullen's lips. "Fine. Be that way. Just don't push yourself."

"Never happen, Ser Pot," Dorian said airily as he turned and headed after the Iron Bull. "This kettle is far too much a wastrel for _that_ dire fate, after all."

"I am not-" Cullen began to protest, but Dorian was already out of earshot as he hurried to Bull's side. With a shake of his head, Cullen returned to his office. He still had a lot of work to do, after all.

* * *

Restlessness finally drove him out of the office a few hours after that as the sun slowly set over the mountains to the east. The wind chilled Cullen's face as he leaned on the ramparts, looking out across the lands surrounding Skyhold. The sight of the snow fields and the frozen river were always calming, and the cold of the wind and air eased the pain which had been gnawing and throbbing in the back of his mind since he'd returned to his work after the short interlude with Dorian.

He resolutely put aside the thought that perhaps he had fled his office to ensure he was far from a specific box with its tempting blue contents. Later, he would deal with that, but for now, he let himself simply _exist_ and breathe, ignoring the longing for the lyrium as best as he could.

"He's cold inside, cold and hungry and desperate."

The sudden intrusion of that particular voice made Cullen clench his teeth together for a moment. Cole was difficult for him to deal with at the best of times, and he was hardly at his best in this particular moment. Slowly he turned to face the pale man standing next to him. "Cole. You've been difficult to track down of late." In fact, now that Cullen thought about it, he hadn't actually seen Cole since word had arrived of Mailani's death, though Harding's reports had placed him with Dorian for at least two of the weeks the mage had been away from Skyhold. He peered more closely at the boy, a frown coming to his face as he noticed that Cole was even more pale than usual, and his lips were tinged a pale blue. "Cole, are you all right?"

"He wants what he cannot have," Cole said urgently. "He needs to fill the hole left by his dagger, and he doesn't care what happens to whoever he pushes into it."

Cullen frowned, his momentary concern at Cole's absence wiped away by the words. "Who are you talking about?"

Cole took a deep breath, and when he next spoke, the words fell over themselves in a rush. "His wings are broken, but he continues to fly and fall, lashing out at whatever gets in his way without thinking of the pain he inflicts. He hunts now, a prowling predator seeking his prize, his prey, his pleasure."

"It's Hawke, isn't it?" A chill ran down Cullen's spine when he received a spare nod in response. "Where's Dorian?"

Cole's shoulders sagged in relief. "He hides amidst works of wine and words, wishing the world away. He's vulnerable, open, eager to trust. Easy to push into a hole, but not so easy to pull out."

Cullen put a hand on Cole's shoulder. "I'll take care of it," he promised, then hurried past him towards the nearest stairs.

A whisper followed him. "She says thank you."

Those words were enough to make Cullen come to a hard stop and turn around, but Cole was already gone.

Shaking his head, he took the stairs two at a time, deciphering Cole's riddle as he went. _Works of wine and words...He must mean the secret study._ There were books there, after all, and the small wine cellar not too far away. Certainly it was a more likely candidate than the main library or the storage room in the back of the _Herald's Rest._ His strides lengthened as he took the quickest route from his office to the study, yet even then it almost wasn't enough.

"Hawke!" Cullen called out, his urgency at seeing the man reaching towards the door handle enough to make him bypass normal courtesies.

The man's shoulders stiffened, but his hand fell away from the door as he turned around, a cold expression on his face as he said in a sarcastic tone, "Cullen. It's been _so long_ since we've talked."

"As you say, Your Excellency." Cullen gave a belated bow as Hawke walked towards him. "I trust you've been well?"

"Tolerably." Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Odd to run into you down here."

Lifting his chin, Cullen gave a little shrug. "I don't see why. There are several important books down here that I refer to on occasion." It was a not-so-subtle message, that Cullen _belonged_ to Skyhold, and Hawke did not.

"And I take it such an occasion has arisen now?" The skepticism in Hawke's voice cut through the air between them, and for a moment, Cullen feared that Hawke would pursue the matter. Finally, though, Hawke simply shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way, _Commander._ I'd best be on my way, then."

Stepping back to give Hawke plenty of room to pass by, Cullen breathed a purely internal sigh of relief. When Hawke was right next to him, however, he paused and met Cullen's gaze. "You wouldn't happen to have run down here because you heard something from one of your soldiers, would you?"

"What I say to my soldiers and what they say to me is the Inquisition's concern," Cullen said in a flat tone.

Hawke regarded him with tilted head for a moment, then stepped closer. "Odd, isn't it, how you've gone from never looking beyond the tip of your nose to sticking it where it doesn't belong?" Leaning in until his face was mere inches away from Cullen's, he said softly, "I was there, lest you forget. While Meredith slowly went insane and Kirkwall fell apart around her, you refused to pull your head out of your arse and do anything about it." His nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed even further. "And, as usual, I had to clean up the whole bloody mess. I don't know how you sleep at night with all that blood on your hands because you didn't dare question authority. Think on _that_ before you start judging me based on a little rumor or decide that you'd be 'better' for him, hmm?"

Cullen forced himself not to back down and keep his breath even as Hawke gave him one final scornful look before stalking away. _Damn the man._ The headache which had been bothering him earlier began to throb painfully, and he sighed as he rubbed at his forehead. Worse, Hawke was _right_ \- at least about Kirkwall - and Cullen knew it. Did that make him right about Dorian? "No. Not this time," he murmured, then quickly entered the study.

Inside, Dorian had collapsed into the lone chair, face buried in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. As Cullen approached, he raised his head to blink blearily at Cullen. "Commander?" In the dim lighting, his eyes looked red rimmed and swollen and the circles beneath them were even more pronounced than before, but Cullen couldn't tell if that was more than mere abuse of alcohol. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Dorian," Cullen said in a soft voice, again worried about the mage. He knew only too well the impulse to dull pain with drink. "I've come to take you to your rest. You know," he added, trying for a slightly lighter tone, "the one you promised you'd get, hmm?"

Dorian snorted as he tried to rise to his feet. Halfway up, he lurched sideways, saved from cracking his head on the desk only through Cullen's swift step forward to pull him fully upright. With a chuckle, Dorian tapped Cullen's nose with a shaking hand. _"Deja vu._ You seem to be making a habit of catching me when I falter."

"That's not such a bad thing, is it?" Cullen asked as he held Dorian in place. When the man still swayed in spite of his help, Cullen shook his head and carefully helped the mage back into the chair. "Maybe we should just sit and talk for a while," he suggested as he hitched himself up onto the desk.

With an absent nod, Dorian closed his eyes and sighed, then let his head fall back into the chair. "Yes. Talk. One of the two best things to do with your lips and tongue. That would be nice." He took a deep breath, then raised the bottle he still held to his lips. Only a vague look of disappointment on his face told Cullen that it was empty before he opened his fingers and let it drop with a clatter to the ground. "About what, pray?"

The mage's first comment made him suddenly remember Hawke's parting jab, and Cullen swiftly cleared his throat, pushing the absurdity of the idea out of his mind. Instead, he cast about for a topic that would avoid both the weather and Dorian's reason for drinking so heavily - at least, for now. "You were away from Skyhold for a long time. Any particular reason? Do you have anything to report?"

"It was _terrible,_ Commander. There were bears. Bandits. Brontos. Burned breakfasts. Bug bites. _Bureaucrats."_ Dorian shuddered delicately. "Absolutely horrifying."

Cullen forced a chuckle. "That does sound terrible."

"Indeed," Dorian groaned. "I've rarely been more miserable in my life. But do you know the absolute worst part of the entire affair?" His eyes opened, gleaming wetly in the dim light. "She wasn't there. Maker, I'd have given every last breath in my body for her to be at my side."

The words came as a surprise, given that Dorian had never volunteered his own pain before, and hit Cullen almost like a blow. His hand rose to his chest as he gasped and bowed his head, an action that didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Dorian said quickly, leaning forward and reaching out with his hand in a comforting gesture. "I should have considered your own-"

"No." The word came out softly, so Cullen shook his head more firmly and took Dorian's outstretched hand, speaking with a bit more authority as he repeated the word. "No. Please, tell me more. You were among those who fought at her side. Tell me what she was like out there." When Dorian seemed uncertain, he squeezed the man's hand and added, "It would mean a lot to me."

A sad, fleeting smile came to Dorian's face as he nodded. "As you wish. She was…utterly fearless on the field. It was odd to see sometimes, since she was such a kind soul anywhere but in battle, but if we came under attack, or if she saw someone in danger, the bow came out and her arrows flew true." Dorian reached up to wipe his tears away, though more fell mere moments later. "When it was all over, she was the first at everyone's side, making sure we were bandaged and tended to properly. She always made sure she was the last to drink any of the potions." The mage sighed, that tremulous smile again touching his lips. "She even lied about it a couple of times, the poor darling, just to make sure we'd all drink if we needed it. Iron Bull or Cassandra, and even Blackwall, had to carry her back to camp more than once because of it."

"That does sound like her," Cullen said with a wry chuckle. That selflessness had been one of the things he respected and adored the most. "Is that why she caught lung fever in the Storm Coast?"

"Precisely. Vivienne was most put out with her, as I recall," Dorian noted with a little shake of his head.

"As was Cassandra," Cullen noted. "That was after the Blades of Hessarian operation, wasn't it?"

As they talked, Dorian's tears eased, then ceased altogether, and both men started to smile as the act of remembering Mailani grew more fond and less painful. Their hands parted so that gestures could be made, and there were even moments when genuine laughter rang in the small room. Eventually the conversation found a natural lull, leaving both men in a pensive mood and lost in their own thoughts.

After a few moments, Dorian reached down to his belt and pulled away a small metal flask etched with runes. As his fingers traced the etchings, they glowed slightly, and Cullen raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"I found it on the body of a Venatori mage," Dorian replied thoughtfully. "I recognized its nature and have carried it ever since. Nevarran brandy, but of a very _special_ sort."

"Intriguing. What makes it so special?"

"Its intended purpose," Dorian replied, tapping the glowing runes. "I mastered Nevarran magical arts, but I also studied their rituals. They treat their dead with as much respect as the living. More, in some cases." For a moment he fell silent, then continued in a heavy voice, "This brandy is what they drink when they wish to thank the departed for being a part of their lives."

Cullen's eyes were drawn to the intricately etched runes, their soft glow barely visible even in the dim light of the study. "And the runes?"

"Necromancy runes. According to the ritual, after drinking, there is a moment you can reach beyond the Veil and… _feel_ them. For a moment only, of course, but..." Dorian sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "A priceless treasure indeed, if true. Pity there is only enough for one use." Twisting off the cap, he offered the flask to Cullen. "But I think it should be yours to cherish."

"Are you certain?" Cullen's caution arose in part from not wishing to deprive Dorian of the experience, given his earlier state. The rest stemmed from his innate caution regarding any spell cast in his vicinity - magic was, after all, magic, and he had personal reasons to be wary.

"Quite certain," Dorian assured him quietly. "For all that it was one of the worst days of my life, at least I was with her in the end. You didn't even get that much."

Cullen winced as the vision of Mailani's crushed, dessicated body flashed in front of his eyes, the same image which had tortured him for weeks and could only be diminished with alcohol. Even now, it made his headache sharpen and his hands twitch, and he forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep, steadying breath.

Finally he reached out and took the flask from Dorian. "You're right." Even the chance of a farewell was enticing enough to override his reluctance, if only for a while. "How does it work?"

"Simply think of why you were grateful for her, and drink." Dorian tapped his temple. "According to my studies, the ritual raises a sort of spiritual beacon, and your thoughts determine what comes to investigate. So be careful, and be steadfast."

With a nod, Cullen stared at the flask for a moment before closing his eyes, determined not to let his mind wander. _Mailani._

A welter of images and emotions from their time together ran through his mind and heart, an almost breathless reminder that as much as he had loved her, it had been her friendship which had sustained him for so long - and, in some ways, supported him even now. It was enough to push aside the last of his misgivings, and he raised the flask to his lips, quickly drinking its contents in one swift gulp. As the brandy burned down his throat, Cullen bowed his head in silence.

Perhaps it was the strength of the brandy, of perhaps the ritual truly did work as promised, but…it was almost as if she were right there beside him. When a hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, Cullen grasped it without thinking, his thoughts wholly on Mailani.

 _Thank you._ Simply that: no embellishment, no explanation, and no exception.

For an instant, there was a sensation of a gentle touch on his cheek. Then the feeling faded, leaving him alone again.

With a shuddering sigh, he buried his face in his hands as he let the emotions wash over him. It was the closest to peace he'd felt since her death, though he could not say for certain that it had, in fact, been _her_ touch he had felt. In the end, it didn't matter. What had truly happened was _acceptance,_ something which he'd been struggling with for weeks. Whether it was the ritual, or simply talking with someone else who had also loved her, even if in a different way, he finally felt for the first time as if he would be able to cherish what he'd had without howling about what he had lost.

His breath came easier, his shoulders felt lighter, and the pain was gone from his head. A weight was gone - only one of many - but at least his burden had been lessened. _Thank you,_ he whispered in his mind one more time.

Tears standing in his eyes, he finally looked up at Dorian. Words seemed inadequate in that moment, so instead Cullen simply reached out to the mage. Dorian grasped it wordlessly, accepting Cullen's need for silence as easily as he accepted his hand.

There were worse things than being alone together.


	9. His Worst Nightmare

Darkness.

Cullen remembered this darkness, remembered the blistering cold and the freezing wind of the mountain blizzard. Remembered standing at the furthest edge of the firelight from the hastily constructed camp, his eyes searching the darkness for any sign of the Herald. Remembered waiting, praying more fervently than he had in years to see movement, to hear the shift of snow or a cry for help.

But mostly he remembered the darkness, inside and out, wondering if the endearing little elf whose smile seemed to warm him within had survived the avalanche which had covered Haven.

Why he stood there now, shivering in the cold despite his fur, heart racing with anxiety, he didn't know, or question. He only knew he must search the darkness, that someone needed to be saved. A vague memory came to him, of a cave full of dust and blood and despair, but it was fleeting. What was important was that he remain vigilant.

Whatever came, he would stand ready to meet it.

A light flickered in front of him, a burst of bright green that made his heart leap. _Yes. That is the person I have to save._ Blindly he stepped forward, pursuing that hint of green as his heart swelled with hope and fear.

When his foot landed, however, the darkness lifted, and he found himself in a tavern, of all places. An empty tavern, with sprawling tables and benches and not even a murmur of conversation. Confused, he turned to look behind him, and saw no tavern but a vast expanse of grim, grey rock and a flickering light that made him queasy. Only when he let his gaze move upwards and found the Black City floating above did he understand where he stood, but the realization registered in a vague, dreamlike fashion.

The sound of a door closing behind him caught his ear, tugging his attention away from the Black City, particularly when a familiar voice said, "Uh oh. Nobody's here. This doesn't bode well."

Dorian's comment pulled Cullen around, and as he turned, the world became a tavern once more. Accepting the oddity of the Fade, he focused on the two who had appeared, noting that both Dorian and Mailani appeared dusty and road-worn. He tried to step forward, but found his feet held to the ground as if his boots had grown into the stone beneath them. He looked down at them with a frown, just as another man spoke whose voice he didn't recognize.

"Dorian."

The voice made Cullen's skin crawl, and he looked up from his frozen feet just as Dorian replied, "Father." Dorian paused a bit, long enough for Cullen to see uncertainty become anger as he turned to face the other man, still hidden in the shadows of a stairwell. "So the whole story about the 'family retainer' was just…what? A smoke screen?"

"Then you were told," the man said as he stepped forward, into the light that was all at once brightly lit by candles and lanterns and dimmed by the green darkness of the Fade. "I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved."

When Cullen saw the man to whom Dorian spoke more clearly, his eyes widened. The man himself seemed unremarkable - middle-aged with a lined face in a mage's robe. Behind him, however - and large enough to block the view of the Fade on the other side of the tavern - crouched a spider-like creature of monstrous proportions shrouded in a spiky carapace of shadows and with more eyes than Cullen ever wanted to see clustered together. Despite its size, the thing was difficult to see, fading in and out of sight as if it weren't entirely _there,_ and Cullen had to concentrate to see more than a vague outline.

Even more chilling than its mere presence, however, was the long, twisting line which stretched from the thing's mouth to gently coil around the man now talking to Dorian, a cord which pulsed with a sickly green darkness. Its presence sent a lance of cold down Cullen's back, as instinct shocked him with a recognition based more on his visceral reaction than on learned knowledge.

 _Demon._ No other explanation made sense. And not just any demon, such as Cullen had encountered and fought before in Kinloch Hold and, later, Kirkwall and his nightmares. This was a creature of another order entirely, and its focus seemed to be entirely on the events within the tavern. Cullen's attention re-focused on the tavern as he realized that while _he_ was not danger, the same might not hold true for Dorian.

Time had passed, and words exchanged, but it was Mailani's voice which made him truly pay attention to the conversation again. "I should leave you to work this out."

Dorian turned on her, his voice and stance softening slightly when talking to her rather than his father. "Oh, no you don't. I want a witness. I want someone to hear the truth."

"Dorian," his 'father' interjected, "there's no need for this-"

Continuing as if the man had not spoken, Dorian said, "I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves."

Mailani's eyebrows rose as she blinked. "That's…a big concern in Tevinter, is it?" Cullen recognized her tone immediately - it was a subtle jab at silly _shemlen_ beliefs.

"Only if you're trying to live up to an impossible standard," Dorian replied bitterly, but as he continued, Cullen's attention was drawn to the huge demon once more as it shifted its pulsating bulk.

A shimmer of dark green ran down the cord between its mouth and the figure of Dorian's father, who flickered - a quick blink of _there_ and _not there._ By the time Dorian turned on him, his anger built into a beautifully righteous wrath, the 'father' appeared completely human once more. His expression was a beautiful emulation of concerned sincerity as he pleaded, "Dorian, please, if you'll only listen to me."

Dorian cut the other man off with a gesture. "Why? So you can spout more convenient lies?" Taking a few steps closer, Dorian raised a hand to point an accusatory finger. _"He_ taught me to hate blood magic. _'The resort of the weak mind.'_ Those are _his_ words."

Cullen felt the blood drain from his face. _Blood magic?_ Distracted for the moment from the hulking behemoth, he focused intently on Dorian. _What blood magic?_

Dorian hadn't so much as paused, though his face had darkened with ire. "But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to... _change_ me!"

The tone of those last few words told Cullen more than an entire conversation with Dorian could have. Blood magic, used to force Dorian to his father's will, either to agree to the marriage - or worse, to change him in an even more fundamental way… Those were no words of a demon, a nightmare conjured up to scare and terrify. The pain in Dorian's face and voice were all too raw and real. His father had, indeed, intended to do just that. Dorian must have escaped, but that level of betrayal…Cullen shuddered. "Thank the Maker you escaped that fate," he murmured fervently.

Dorian's 'father' shook his head, even as the coil around him began to glow. "I only wanted what was best for you!"

Shaking his head fiercely, Dorian said in a heated voice, "You wanted the best for _you!_ For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!" With those words, Dorian turned and stormed to a nearby counter, planting his hands on it as he tried to regain control of himself. Mailani followed him silently, giving him a bit of space to gather his wits about him.

After a few moments, Dorian looked at Mailani, face tight with pain. "Why this?" he asked her, voice shaking with the strength of his emotion. "Why here? Of all the times we had together, why _this_ meeting? Couldn't it have been something a bit more fanciful and beautiful with flowers and unicorns?"

And, just like that, Cullen realized that Dorian still thought this to be a normal dream, as all the others Cullen had seen before had been. Perhaps a bit more unpleasant, but a normal dream nonetheless. He didn't perceive the huge demon towering over the scene, or the fact that his father wasn't part of his own mind but rather an extension of a demon. After all, Cullen had learned as a Templar that the more powerful the demon, the more difficult it was to perceive it while dreaming - even for a mage as skilled as Dorian.

It was Mailani's voice which again drew his attention away from the demon. "I'm sorry," she said softly as she reached out to lay a gentle hand on Dorian's arm. In the next moment, however, she turned to face Cullen. No further words needed to leave her lips for him to understand the pleading in her expression.

Abruptly, he recalled standing in the darkness at the beginning of his time in the Fade, remembered the overpowering need to stand vigilant, to be ready to _save someone._ That feeling had returned, but he no longer stood in darkness.

It was time to act.

Even as he made the decision, he felt a weight on his left arm and in his right hand. As he lifted an arm newly adorned by his shield, his right hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, each band and twist of metal intimately familiar even in a dream. As he shifted his feet, the mysterious force holding him in place crackled and broke, and he nodded to her. _Yes._ He was ready.

With a grim expression on his face, he ran forward, each step gaining momentum and speed as he advanced on the puppet of the demon. Ignoring the surprise on Dorian's face as he raced past, he raised his sword and summoned long unused protections against demons and magic as he roared, "You shall not have him!" With the anger and frustration of years of fighting demons both within and without, he swung his sword and unleashed the Wrath of Heaven with a strength greater than he had ever summoned in the waking world.

Light flared from his sword and blasted into the human-seeming figure first, which gave out a cry so loud it echoed in Cullen's head. For a moment, it morphed into a demon with claws for fingers and multiple crab-like limbs emanating from its back before it vanished into a cloud of inky blackness. As it did so, a white-hot energy surged up the line connecting it to the monster above, and the huge creature reared with a shriek that shook the Fade around them.

The tavern disintegrated as wood and brick and stone flew apart, leaving them standing in an empty expanse of the Fade. Above floated the Black City and the other stray rocks which always seemed to be part of the dim landscape, though a thickening fog obscured most of the immediate ground around them.

Instinctively Dorian moved to Cullen's side. "What in the Fade was that...that _thing?_ I've never seen anything like it."

"Nor I." Cullen shook his head as he sheathed his sword. "Are you... all right?" he asked, a bit hesitant since he wasn't sure what effect the destruction of the dream's construct would have on the man to whom the dream belonged.

"Hmm?" Dorian blinked, then looked at Cullen. "Hmm? Oh, you mean-" He gestured around them. "I've had dreams invaded before, though never on this scale. Usually just wisps and shades attracted to a mage's vivid dreams. Solas and I have discussed the matter frequently." The man's head tilted as his face grew thoughtful. "Did I imagine it, or was there some sort of string connecting the demon playing my father and the larger one?"

Cullen nodded. "I assume the monster was controlling the smaller one somehow, though I don't know why."

Dorian tapped his finger thoughtfully on the little triangle of hair decorating his chin. "I think _I_ do." With a grimace, he added, "At least, if my theory about that monstrosity is true. I think I was its lunch. Or at least, my emotions were."

"It was... _feeding_ off of you?" Cullen asked. Abruptly he recalled Alistair's tale of the sloth demon which had briefly entrapped him and the rest of his companions during the Blight. The thought of that happening to Dorian sent a chill through him. "Thank the Maker we put an end to that."

"We?" Dorian asked, amused. "I seem to recall it was _you_ who ran past, sword swinging, and saved the day." He glanced around. "Dream, that is. For which I am most grateful. I'll have to think of some way to repay you."

Cullen shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about-"

A sudden roar cut him off as it echoed around them, so loud the ground shivered beneath their feet. A staff appeared in Dorian's hands as a huge shadow suddenly loomed in the fog nearby. Cullen heard the whistle and shrieks of all manner of demons in that fog, sounds which hinted at the greatest fears in his worst nightmares. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he drew it and braced himself for battle.

"That doesn't bode well," Dorian said, perhaps unconsciously repeating himself from earlier. In the next moment, however, he shook his head. "This is not a battle we need to fight." With a flourish, Dorian sent a white burst of magic towards a startled Cullen, who instinctively raised his arm to cover his eyes against the blinding light.

For a moment, Cullen felt himself falling, the rush of wind and that bright white light overwhelming all of his senses. It ended with an abrupt jerk as he landed, and he clawed his way upright...

...to the sound of birds chirping as the pale dawn light poured through the hole in the roof above his head. For a moment, Cullen simply sat there, chest heaving, as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Dorian's dream had been chilling, and left more than a few confused questions in its wake.

What was that demon? How had Dorian attracted its attention? Its presence _must_ have been connected somehow with the Anchor, which made Cullen wonder uneasily if Mailani had ever been its target - and if so, how that attention had affected her. Her description of Envy and what it had planned for her had given him a few nightmares all on its own. Even worse, if _Dorian,_ a highly skilled mage, hadn't been able to perceive it without aid, would Mailani have even known if her nightmares had been natural or provoked?

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, Cullen shivered, welcoming the chill of the early morning as a contrast to the leeching cold of the Fade. "Maker, give me strength," he murmured in a quiet plea. He would not let anyone fall prey to the designs of demons as he had, particularly not someone he was quickly coming to regard as a dear friend. At least Dorian was safe for now.

Cullen shook his head to clear his thoughts, knowing that the subject was better discussed directly with Dorian. Not today, though. A smile came to his face as he rose from his bed and began to perform his morning rituals. Today was a significant day for Dorian, though the mage didn't know it yet. Cullen had to make sure that he himself stood ready to support the man as necessary, as both the Commander of the Inquisition, and as a friend.

It was time, after all. More than time.


	10. The Herald's Legacy

This time when Dorian emerged from sleep, he found himself curled tightly around his hand, sweating and freezing all at once. Agony lanced up his left arm as the light flared brightly enough to light the entire room with a sickly green glow. His right hand latched onto his left wrist, instinctively trying to straighten it, but the muscles had seized into a tortured hook. The pain reminded him of when he had first awoken after being anointed with the mark - certainly not the happiest of memories. When he tried to move his fingers, agony shot up his arm and into his shoulder and neck.

 _"Fasta vass,"_ he groaned. Pushing himself out of bed, he stumbled towards the basin of water he used for his morning ablutions. Once there, he shoved his rigid hand into it and fed heat into the water with magic. Soon the basin was hot enough that his skin gained a red tinge, and he diligently massaged his hand and wrist as best as he could with his right hand. After an agonizing eternity during which he forced himself to breathe slowly, the knots in his wrist and fingers slowly began to unwind. He patiently worked at them for a while longer, until suddenly they released with an audible crack.

Hissing in pain, he yanked his arm out of the water and lightly ran fingers chilled with frost over his skin until it returned to its customary hue. After that, it was a matter of slowly pacing at the foot of his bed as he flexed and shook his hand until the pain was at least tolerable. Though this particular episode of cramping remained by far the worst to which he'd awoken, it wasn't the first such occurrence - and, he suspected, it would not be the last.

It was only after he could rotate his left wrist without a sharp pain in his shoulder that he allowed himself to sag down onto his mattress. A glance to the window showed the faint light of early dawn, and Dorian sighed. He had a great deal of work ahead of him, and a restless night of sleep had done little to prepare him for it. He looked down at his hand, absently watching the mark flicker fitfully as he pondered the events in his dream.

"Is it the mark?" he mused in a hushed voice. "Is that why he was drawn to my dreams?" Any mage of the Imperium worth their weight in lyrium received training in how to deal with demons in a variety of settings, but this one... "Not a demon I'll forget about any time soon." It would mean a few extra precautionary measures before sleep, and a bit of extra wariness in places where the Veil was thin. Add to that the whole business of Dorian actively seeking out rifts, and it was a complicating factor that he would have preferred to live without. Still, it wasn't overwhelming.

 _Yet._

With a small shake of his head, he stood and began to prepare for the day, knowing he shouldn't keep the Iron Ladies waiting for too much longer. Cassandra had let it be known that Leliana and Josephine wanted a meeting, and he assumed Cullen would be there, too. Despite his haste, however, he maintained his ritual of a bath with scented oil, a morning habit as yet unbroken while in Skyhold. The slowly lowering level of the oil in the bottle gave him a gauge, something to measure how time was pressing against him, and against the Inquisition.

As he scrubbed his arms, hoping the movement and friction would ease away the last of the ache to which he'd awoken, a light knock came to his door. Before he was able to do much more than mutter, _"Kaffas,"_ to himself and look around for his towel, however, the door opened.

"Well, now," Hawke murmured as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "That's a rather enchanting view." Moving closer to Dorian, he settled his hands on his hips and canted his head, eyes freely wandering. "Not a bad way to start the day, I must say."

"Be grateful I don't enchant some manners into you," Dorian said rather pointedly as he tried to subtly rearrange himself so as to keep the _view_ to a minimum. Usually, such admiration wouldn't bother Dorian, particularly with someone with whom he'd passed a rather enjoyable vigorous evening, but there was something about the man's gaze which made Dorian more than a little discomfited. "And here I thought that even Fereldans knew enough about common courtesy to wait for an answer before barging in."

With a laugh, Hawke settled himself on the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You can blame Kirkwall for that. What rough edges I still had after leaving Ferelden were encouraged while I was there. A fascinating city, Kirkwall. You would probably like it."

Unsure how to deal with Hawke's invasion or odd conversational choice, and unwilling to insult the Viscount's city to his face, Dorian affected a light chuckle. "Well, it used to be part of the Imperium, so that is likely true. I have a fondness for Tevinter history and architecture, after all, just not to the same extent as the Venatori. I prefer to leave the past in the past."

An odd smile came to Hawke's face then, warm but with a touch of sadness. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"I can imagine. It would be a very bad thing if the mark somehow fell into the hands of Corypheus, hmm?" Dorian asked with a wink.

"That's one reason, yes." Hawke began to roll up his sleeves. "I didn't realize I would be interrupting your bath, but I may as well help." Making a circular motion with his finger, he said, "Your back. That's the usual place one offers to help scrub, isn't it?"

"Oh, there's no need to bother yourself," Dorian assured him. "I'm perfectly content as I am. Though I admit I'm rather curious as to what brought you to my room at such an early hour and with so little decorum." As careful as he was to keep the tone light and teasing, Dorian still tried to convey a hint of the disapproval he felt at the entire situation. "After all, the last time you were in my chambers, you spoke as if would be the last time."

Hawke's eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized Dorian. The answer obviously did not suit the man, and Dorian felt that edge of wariness inside grow sharper. "While that may be true, a man is entitled to change his opinion, isn't he? And you've presented some very compelling arguments."

"By not seeing you for weeks on end?" Dorian asked with a forced smile as he began going through the motions of cleaning once more.

"Temporary circumstance," Hawke dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's become quite clear that you're a man of conviction, a man who wants to change the world. I admire that." His gaze softened as he added in a quiet voice, he said, "It reminds me of someone else, someone quite dear to me."

Dorian's mouth went dry at those words, his previous conversation with Hawke echoing in his mind. From anyone else, such a statement would have been flattering. From Hawke? _Maker preserve me._ Before he could figure out what on Thedas he could say in reply, however, another knock came at the door, crisp and precise, and Dorian knew who it would be even before he opened the door and entered.

"Dorian, Cassandra sent me to- Oh." Cullen paused as he caught sight of Dorian in the bathtub, obviously a bit taken aback to find the mage thus. The glance he sent to Hawke, however, held no such surprise. "Ah, yes, Cassandra sent me to let you know they're waiting for you. I'm under strict orders to bring you back with me." He gave a shrug. "And you know Cassandra."

Considering that the Iron Trio weren't expecting him until mid-morning at the earliest, that explanation was... _interesting._ Incredibly so, in fact. Still, Dorian was all too happy at that precise moment to play along with the charade. "I do, indeed. Far be it from me to invite the wrath of Cassandra."

"And such convenient timing, too," Hawke mused in a flat tone.

"Varric could tell you a great deal about Cassandra, if you'd like," Cullen offered, expression neutral. "When she says jump, you don't pause to ask _how high?"_

Hawke stood smoothly from his position on the bed. "Oh, I'm sure. I'll just let myself out, then. Dorian and I can continue our conversation later." When he crossed in front of Cullen, he paused and leaned in slightly. "Good day, _Commander."_

Cullen lifted his chin slightly. "And to you as well, Your Grace."

With a snort, Hawke sauntered to the door. "Enjoy yourselves," he called back as he opened the door, then closed it with a firmness that wasn't _quite_ a slam, but wasn't far off.

"That man," Cullen muttered as he shook his head. He looked at Dorian, holding his hand out as if to assure himself the mage was unharmed. "Are you all right?"

"Quite, Commander," Dorian replied. "Though my pride has taken a few more hits than I'm used to, particularly so early in the morning. It usually takes until midday at the earliest to reach this level of indignity."

Cullen laughed as he fetched Dorian's towel and held it out to him. "Indignity, or indignance?"

Dorian snatched the towel out of Cullen's hand as he stood. "Now, that level of sarcasm is simply unwarranted, Commander. Have some respect for-" He paused as he saw the door open and hastily wrapped the towel around himself as Varric's head poked through the door.

"We good?" the dwarf asked.

With a nod, Cullen said, "For now. Thanks for letting me know."

"Anytime, Curly. Now I have to go hide in the basement all day before Hawke puts it all together." Varric nodded towards Dorian. "Sparkler. Looks like you're almost ready to pay off your last bet."

Dorian had to chuckle at that. "I didn't _literally_ mean the clothes off my back, Varric. You _do_ realize It's rather unfair to hold a man to a drunken wager made in the arse-end of nowhere, don't you?"

"Maybe, but I might just hold you to it," Varric replied with a wink. "All those buckles you normally wear could be melted down and sold for a tidy profit."

"Casting aspersion upon my national dress, are we?" Dorian held the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "Oh, my poor, benighted Imperium!"

Varric snorted. "And _you_ started it by asking if it was a _natural_ curl or not. I happen to _like_ my shirts."

"Did I ever say I didn't admire the view?" Dorian protested.

"Maybe you should ask Curly that right now," Varric told him with a grin. "See you later, Sparkler." And with that, he backed out of the room.

Dorian's brow furrowed, then looked at Cullen. "What did he- Commander, are you _blushing?"_

"What? No," Cullen said immediately, then politely turned his back, presumably to allow Dorian some privacy. "You should get dressed, though. There is someone who wants to see you."

"Someone who isn't Cassandra, I take it." As he spoke, Dorian briskly wicked the water away with his towel and stepped from the tub. As he pulled his clothes on, he added, "And don't think I didn't notice that little conspiracy between you and Varric. What was that about?"

When Cullen didn't answer right away, Dorian paused in his buckling and turned to look at him. He immediately noticed the tension in the man's shoulders - something that not even all that fur could disguise - and the way his arms were crossed across his chest, hands locked around his elbows. Stepping closer, he reached out and gently touched Cullen's arm. "Cullen?" he asked softly.

Cullen's shoulders sagged, and he released a long, soft sigh before turning to look at Dorian. "I don't trust Hawke around mages. And if you knew about my past, you would understand why that statement is one of the more ironic things you will ever hear me say."

A frown came to Dorian's face, since he _did_ know some of Cullen's past - if his odd dreams could be trusted, at any rate. "I know what happened to Anders," Dorian said quietly. "Word of _that_ moved through the Imperium fairly quickly, and Hawke even told me his side. You are saying there were other mages in his life?"

For a moment, Cullen looked to the side as he took another long, slow breath. Finally he looked up at Dorian, a grim expression on his face. "There _were."_

"I see." That deliberate emphasis on _were_ explained far too much, including a great deal of Varric's caution around the Viscount. "I will be cautious, I promise."

"That is all I can ask for," Cullen said with a nod. "And it still remains that someone is waiting for us."

"You are quite insistent upon this meeting, then?" Dorian chuckled and turned his attention back to his buckles, quickly latching them closed. "Then I ask you bear with me as I finish up." Moving to the vanity, he sat and attended to his hair, repairing the damage done to it after a night of restless sleep with deft fingers and a judicious mix of oil and magic. His face was given a similar treatment, and when he turned to Cullen it was with a bright smile. "There. Perfection achieved."

A crooked grin came to Cullen's face as he chuckled. "Ah, of course. That's what all that that was about."

"Now, now, Commander," Dorian chided him, "don't think I'm oblivious to just how much effort you put into your hair every day. We all have our vanities."

Cullen reddened and cleared his throat. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said, then pushed himself away from the door so he could open it. "Let's go. We've kept them waiting long enough."

"Them?" Dorian asked as they emerged. "You are certainly piquing my curiosity."

"Good," Cullen said as he led Dorian through Skyhold.

As they walked, Dorian noted that Cullen was taking quite a roundabout route to whatever part of Skyhold he was taking them. He was able to quickly rule out the library, war room, and forge as probable destinations, a fact which only fed his curiosity. He was in the midst of constructing a map of Skyhold in his head so he could pinpoint where, in fact, Cullen was leading him when the man gave him a sidelong glance.

"Do you know what my soldiers have started to call you?"

"Hmm?" Dorian glanced at some stairs going up into the Keep proper as they passed. _Those go up to the main hall, if I recall._ "I presume I am still _'the Vint'?_ That's fairly common, after all." He had grown accustomed to it, in fact, ever since leaving the Imperium proper.

"Not exactly," Cullen said with a little smile. "They're starting to call you the Chosen, actually."

Those words stopped Dorian in his tracks, staring at Cullen as the man turned to face him. "The- What?" For once, he felt at a loss for words.

"The Chosen of the Herald, specifically," Cullen added. "I'm still not convinced that Leliana had nothing to do with its origin, mind, but I'm hearing it more and more." A sad little smile came to face. "Just as with the Herald after she closed her first rift."

"I am not trying to replace Mailani." The response was almost instinctive. It wasn't that Dorian could claim he had no ambition, but his purpose here in the Inquisition was, to his mind, absolutely clear: to continue his friend's legacy, close the rifts, and defeat Corypheus. After that... His hand flexed unconsciously. _After that, we'll just have to see._ "I never knew."

Cullen laughed and clapped his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "When have you been back in Skyhold long enough to hear it, hmm?" he asked. "You've been so busy running around wearing yourself to a thread that you haven't stopped long enough to hear it." His fingers gripped hard for a moment as he added in a soft voice, "I think she would be proud of you."

Dorian's throat tightened as a smile came to his lips. "Nothing would please me more," he said in a hoarse voice, "save for her being here to do all of this in my stead."

For a moment, Cullen bowed his head and took a deep breath, just before Dorian found himself being pulled into tight embrace. The other man's breath tickled Dorian's ear as Cullen whispered, "Thank you." Before Dorian could really react, Cullen pulled back abruptly and cleared his throat. "We should move along. We don't want to keep them waiting."

Dorian quickly followed after Cullen, swallowing several times to ease the tension in his throat. Unfortunately, that did little to address the pounding of his heart, or the odd flutter he felt in the pit of his stomach, neither of which made sense to him. _It must be the emotion of the moment._ There had been an instant, though, when Cullen's lips had brushed his ear...

 _No, no._ No. _No,_ Dorian scolded internally, thoughts shying away from considering any of the implications of those particular sensations. Out of habit and a sudden need to direct his thoughts elsewhere, he flexed his left hand and let the little spike of pain clear his mind as effectively as a shock of cold water. "So, ah, where _precisely_ are we going?"

"What, tell you and spoil the surprise?" Cullen asked, turning to Dorian long enough to give him a broad smile. "Don't worry. It's not much farther."

 _"Don't worry,_ he says, as if there's nothing to worry about," Dorian shot back. When that earned him nothing more than a laugh in response, Dorian sighed and settled back into speculation.

As they emerged from Skyhold into the courtyard, Dorian's eyes widened when they found Horsemaster Dennet waiting with a... _steed_ at his side, though Dorian used the word only generously. If nugs could grow to the size of horses and somehow acquire horns along the way, then that's what was standing calmly next to Dennet.

A faint memory from Val Royeaux stirred in his mind as they approached the Horsemaster and his charge. "Oh, sweet Maker," Dorian said as they got closer. "Is this _the ware_ of that insipid merchant?"

Dennet chuckled and scratched it behind its horn. "Indeed she is. A right fearsome war mount, too. And good for climbing, if it comes to that." Dennet pointed at the paws, which looked disturbingly like hands . "Climb on, give her a try."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow. "What is this thing called, anyway?"

"A nuggalope," Dennet said with an absolutely straight face, even as Cullen crossed his arms with one hand conveniently raised to cover what _had_ to be a smirk.

Dorian paused with his hand on the saddle. "Truly? Dare I ask why?"

"That tale involves a Chevalier, a Crow, a Warden, and a great deal of drinking, so probably not," Dennet replied in a deadpan. "There might even have been _bards_ involved."

"I see." A suspicious sound which closely resembled laughter emerged from behind Cullen's hand, and Dorian looked at the warrior with narrowed eyes before finally sighing and giving in to the inevitable. He didn't see anything wrong with humoring the man, after all. Dennet knew his mounts and, more importantly, his saddles - for which Dorian's hindquarters were eternally grateful. "Then I shall mount my majestic steed, which is in no way one of the most simultaneously adorable and terrifying creatures I've yet to behold, and... do what, precisely, hmm? Strike a pose? I _am_ rather pretty to look at."

Dennet barked a laugh as Cullen bowed his head, shoulders shaking. "Up you go," he said. "They're waiting."

Dorian's eyes narrowed once more, but the look he sent towards Cullen found the Commander with a straight face. "You do realize this is quite suspicious, don't you?" Still, with a sigh, he moved to the nuggalope's side and smoothly mounted. Laying one hand on the saddlehorn, he set the other on his hip and turned his head to strike a dramatic pose. "Now, commemorate this moment - particularly my profile - in marble, and we'll have something truly majestic to display for the visitors to Skyhold, hmm?"

Cullen grinned and moved to grab the nuggalope's reins, smacking Dorian's thigh along the way. "I'm not sure the Inquisition could find that much marble."

Rubbing his leg to ease the sting, Dorian chuckled. "Why not? We've performed miracles before."

"Inquisition's got more important things to do," Dennet declared, just before his hand slapped the nuggalope on the rump.

The mount made an odd braying sound and then started forward in the direction it was facing - walking at Cullen's heels towards the stairs leading up to the main hall of Skyhold. "I _say,"_ Dorian said, "not quite the destination I had in mind for _the ware's_ first mission."

"She's fine," Dennet told him with a shrug. "It's why we chose her, actually. Hands like that can't hurt the carpet."

"Carpet?" His suspicion increased sharply as he looked ahead and saw that the doors, open since they'd all trooped in from Haven, were rather mysteriously closed. Dorian's eyes narrowed as they crested the stairs. "Commander, what is this all about?"

Cullen paused with his hand on the door and looked back at Dorian, a smile on his face. "Making the Inquisition whole again." With a roll of his shoulders, he dropped the nuggalope's reins and pushed open the doors.

As he did so, the swelling sound of a cheer erupted from within, and Cullen stepped aside with a bow. "He's all yours, Horsemaster."

"Thank you, Commander." Dennet loosely wrapped the reins around his arm as he stepped forward and took hold of the cheek piece on the nuggalope's bridle. Then he led them inside.

Dorian simply stared around him as Dennet guided the nuggalope. As far as he could tell, everyone in Skyhold had gathered there, from the soldiers to the nobility to the companions, and they were…yes, they were _cheering._ For _him._ It wasn't to be believed, and yet, there they were, clapping and waving at him, and here _he_ was, being led towards the other end of the hall. At first he simply stared, unable to stop the smile that crept onto his face, until finally he raised his left hand and waved, almost not feeling the pain as the green light flared into wakefulness. That was when he first heard the word _Chosen,_ and once he heard it, he didn't stop hearing it. And the smile on his face remained as he found an answering one on so many faces.

 _Am I Chosen?_ He glanced at his left hand for a moment, a line of concern marring his forehead as he again wondered how, exactly, he had come to bear the mark. Solas and he had discussed it extensively when he'd called Solas to the field to assist with the exploration of several of the elvish ruins and landmarks in the Emerald Graves, but neither of them had been able to develop a conclusive theory that explained _why._ Perhaps once Dorian had a day to himself when he could truly investigate, he'd learn more. Until then...

The sound of the nuggalope's bray snapped him out of his thoughts, and he instinctively grabbed the saddle horn as it drew to a halt at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne, which was still turned to face the wall. The hall had grown silent behind him, and a glance around showed Dennet standing beside the nuggalope with his hand outstretched. "I think it's about time we set things to right."

Dorian glanced at the throne, still turned to face the wall, then back at Dennet's hand, then towards the Cullen and the Iron Trio, who stood prominently to the side. After receiving several smiles and nods, he took a breath and looked down at the waiting man. "I do believe you're correct, Horsemaster."

A cheer erupted as Dorian took Dennet's hand and slid from the saddle. As the two men approached the throne, footsteps followed them, so that by the time they had reached the throne and began to turn it, they had plenty of assistance. Soon enough the throne was turned, and Dennet stepped back and looked appraisingly at it as once again the hall fell silent.

"No usurpers allowed. That's what you said, all those weeks ago," Dennet said with a short nod. "And right enough, I don't see one here. Now, why don't you sit your Magister's fat Tevinter ass down, Inquisition? We've got work to do."

Dorian laughed and clapped the man on the back. "As long as the Advisors give their blessing." He spoke loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to make it _obvious_. It wasn't _precisely_ theatre, not as much as his last encounter with Dennet in this very room, but the legitimacy came from both the people _and_ the leaders.

Cullen stepped forward and gestured towards the throne. "Take your seat, Inquisitor."

A hush fell over the room as Dorian approached the throne, a quiet which was quickly broken as he settled himself into the wooden seat. He accepted the cheers, though each flare of his hand reminded him all too readily of the price they'd all paid for him to sit there. It was heady, true, but he tried not to let it go to his head - there was still far too much work to be done, after all.

The next few minutes blurred into each other after that, since Dorian insisted on rising from the throne and heading back into the hall, taking his time to talk to as many of the people as he could, including the Advisors and all his companions. Even Warden Alistair was there for a congratulatory shake of the hand and an easy smile.

The only time Dorian's smile faltered was when he turned to find Hawke beside him, a broad grin on the man's face and with his hand extended. "Congratulations, Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dorian said demurely as he took the hand to shake - only to find himself pulled into a rather tight embrace.

Hawke's breath tickled at Dorian's ear. "Do let me know if you wish to celebrate later, hmm?" The words were followed by the press of lips to the shell of Dorian's ear, and then Hawke released him, a friendly smile on his face. "Until we meet again," he said with a little bow, then turned and walked away through the crowd, which gave the Champion a wide berth.

Dorian kept the frown off his face, but he did allow himself a sigh. _That man..._ He was quickly coming to mean _trouble._

Eventually the hall began to clear as people returned to their duties, leaving only the nobles, gossips, and perpetually curious remaining in the hall. Dorian found himself standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne, left hand flexing in time to the pulse of green light coming from it. His mind whirled, grappling with the idea that Mailani wasn't here, and that _he_ was the-

"Inquisitor?"

Clearing his throat, Dorian put a warm smile on his face as he turned to face Josephine. "Ambassador. A pleasure to see you, though I'll admit, a little warning for all this," he gestured around them, "would not have been amiss."

"It's more fun this way, Inquisitor," Josephine said with a little smile. "However, I also would appreciate it if you could please sit on the throne in a more _official_ capacity. The need for judgment has not diminished in the last few weeks, and the Inquisition never rests. With your new acquisition the title of Inquisitor, it is even more important that you accept all the responsibilities of it, and show Thedas that you can hold those reins with competence and dignity."

"Ah. Yes, of course, Ambassador." He gave her a small bow, impressed all over again by her intelligence. "I'd quite forgotten about that aspect of being the..." His voice trailed off as his smile faded. It still didn't feel _real._ Perhaps it never would, and yet…he had to be her legacy.

Jospehine's gaze softened as she smiled in understanding. "The Inquisitor?"

"Indeed. Yet, if that is what must be done, then you shall not find me wanting." Straightening, Dorian moved towards the throne and settled upon it, then inclined his head towards Josephine. "Let us begin."

She nodded and gestured to the waiting guards, who obligingly brought someone forward. "This was a surprise," she began. "After you returned from the bogs, we discovered this man attacking the building. With a…goat."

Dorian quickly held up his hand. "I beg your pardon?"

"A goat, Inquisitor," Josephine repeated.

"The shaggy animal with horns that bleats? _That_ kind of a goat?"

Josephine smiled. "Yes, Inquisitor."

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. _Mailani, give me strength._ "Very well, Ambassador." He gestured broadly to the man decorated with paint and horns. "Pray continue."

As Josephine laid out the details of the man's case, Dorian paid close attention. Unfortunately, he simply couldn't keep the smirk off his face, even when he sent the man and his clan packing off to the Imperium. _Everyone needs a hobby, after all_.

As the afternoon wore on, he caught himself more than once lightly stroking the palm of his left hand, pondering what Mailani would do. Somehow, it just felt _right._ Later, he would ponder the ramifications, both political and personal, for being thrust into the role he'd sworn he never wanted. For now, he would just do the best he could.

For _her_ sake.

.~^~.

* * *

.~^~.

 _End Act I - Inquisitor_

 _Act II coming soon!_


	11. Picture of Perfection

Cullen's breath puffed through his nose as he hurried to gather materials for the meeting in the war room. He was late - a rare event by anyone's measure - but this time he was _exceptionally_ late and didn't wish to dally any more than he had to. A restless night followed by a headache had forced him to linger in bed longer than was his custom. After that, the morning had been whittled away by messengers and scouts and trying to ignore the box with the tempting blue liquid in it which he still had stashed away in a drawer of his desk, all coupled with a headache from the Void that just would not quit.

When a knock came at the door just as he reached for final batch of notes, he groaned before calling out irritably, "Come!"

The door opened to reveal Cassandra, a concerned look on her face as she entered. "Are you all right, Commander?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Seeker," Cullen snapped, then paused and took a deep breath. "I apologize for my tardiness," he said in a calmer voice as he straightened. "I presume that's why you are here?"

"Your absence has been noticed, yes." Her eyes flickered to the food tray on his desk, and she frowned. "You have not eaten your breakfast?"

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "This morning proved to be very busy," he told her. "I believe I saw Jim no less than five times."

"That's no excuse to neglect yourself," Cassandra said in a severe voice.

He gave her a keen look. "I seem to remember you skipping a few meals yourself around the time of the Conclave."

Making a dismissive gesture with her hand, Cassandra gave him a stern glare. "That is entirely different and you know it." Moving to the tray, she lifted the pitcher of juice, then made a disgusted noise when she saw a piece of paper still beneath it. Retrieving it, she held it out to Cullen. "Also, it defeats the purpose of trying to send you hidden messages if you do not even find them when necessary."

His eyebrows rose as he took the paper. "Hidden messages?" Cullen repeated. When she simply nodded, he unfolded the paper and quickly read it through once, then twice. With a muttered oath, he folded it again. "Maker's breath, that's all I need on top of this headache."

Cassandra's face grew concerned again. "Is it the withdrawal again?"

"Perhaps," Cullen said, reaching up to rub his forehead. "Or perhaps it's the headache one would expect to get after a restless night, a busy morning, and a skipped breakfast."

"True," she conceded. "You do seem to be improving when it comes to the lyrium addiction."

Cullen nodded, though he couldn't quite stop the grimace from coming to his face. "In truth, sometimes it is only the memory of Inquisitor Lavellan which prevents my relapse," he admitted quietly.

Putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, Cassandra said, "You are still performing your duties to the Inquisition, and you are still not using lyrium. That is worth a great deal, I think. I have faith in you."

"I wish I had more faith in myself," he admitted, then waved the folded note. "And I'll admit, my first reaction to learning Hawke has returned to Skyhold and will be at the meeting was a temptation to use the stuff."

A faint smile came to her face. "That _is_ why we tried to warn you at breakfast," she told him.

"Why a note, though?" he wondered. "You could have just come and told me."

"We didn't want to do anything unusual to attract his attention," she told him. "He has been rather… odd of late."

Cullen snorted. "That's one way to put it. If he showed his interest in the Inquisitor any louder, they'd be able to hear it in Kirkwall."

Cassandra gave him an odd look, but finally nodded. "Which would not be a problem if Dorian returned the interest."

"No. It would be a worse problem if he did," Cullen said grimly. "You didn't see what Hawke did to Merrill." _And Fenris,_ he added in the vaults of his mind, but he assumed that Varric wouldn't have told Cassandra the whole truth of that. Even Cullen only knew because he'd found Aveline deep in her cups the night after Hawke had been appointed Viscount as she debated whether to leave her post - and Hawke - behind, or stay despite a Viscount Hawke. Considering the woman never turned to alcohol to solve her problems, it had been a surprise to find her in such a state, and an even greater one when she'd launched into a lengthy, drunken confession. When Cassandra had approached him shortly thereafter to join the Inquisition, Cullen hadn't even hesitated. Aveline's words had simply solidified his alienation from the so-called Champion of Kirkwall.

"Merrill?" Cassandra blinked. "Varric only said she did not stand with Hawke at the end."

"That is definitely true." As the pounding in his head increased, he reached up and rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps it is simply best to say that I do not wish to expose the Inquisitor to certain… difficulties which Hawke represents."

Cassandra's face grew troubled. "I knew he made questionable decisions about the raider woman-"

"Questionable-" Cullen stopped his interruption and stared incredulously at Cassandra. "He _handed her over to the Qunari._ That's beyond _questionable,_ that's-" Forcing himself to stop, he took a deep breath. "I suspect that Varric gave you the story he wrote in his book, Seeker," he said quietly. "There are more details that I'm sure he's never told anyone."

As a frown came to her face, Cullen suspected that he'd unwittingly given her motivation to seek Varric out and ask further questions, but for the moment he was simply grateful she didn't ask more of him. "I see. That explains why you and Varric seem so very eager to keep Hawke away from the Inquisitor."

Cullen looked up at her sharply. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to one who knows both of you well," she admitted. "And I would presume Hawke does know Varric well. To those who do not know you, it might seem that you are pursuing the Inquisitor yourself."

That comment made Cullen blink. "Pardon?"

"It is a rumor, Commander, though a faint one," Cassandra said gravely, though the way she canted her head ever so slightly indicated something else entirely. "Leliana found it quite amusing."

"She would," Cullen muttered sourly.

Now Cassandra's lips _did_ twitch, but mercifully she moved on. "Hawke is starting to get irritated at the situation, if his mood in the war room today is any indication."

Cullen rubbed his temple again, seeking to calm the pain. "Keeping him happy isn't my concern. And as long as the Inquisitor is kept out of it, Hawke won't get angry at _him_ , just me and Varric." A half-grin came to his face. "Just like old times in Kirkwall."

"I am sure you know better in this matter," Cassandra said with a small shrug. "I will, however, give the situation additional scrutiny when possible. It has only been a few weeks since Dorian became Inquisitor, after all. We are not strong enough to lose the Viscount's support outright."

"Which the Inquisitor and our Ambassador are keenly aware of, I'm sure." Cullen grimaced and shook his head. "Politics. You can leave me out of it."

"Except politics in this case means the difference between food and armor or nothing for your soldiers," Cassandra pointed out. "Should Kirkwall distance itself from the Inquisition, it is likely others in the Free Marches will follow. The Lord of Starkhaven, for one. He has followed Hawke's lead so far."

Nodding slowly, Cullen grunted and retrieved his notes. "And standing around talking about it won't make any of those problems go away."

"Are you sure you can endure the meeting?" Cassandra asked.

"For the Inquisition's sake, I will endure anything," Cullen said firmly. "Even my worst nightmare can't be worse than a world with Corypheus in charge."

"From your lips to the Maker's ears," Cassandra agreed quietly, then turned to lead the way from Cullen's office.

* * *

As they entered the war room, Dorian turned to greet them with a smile. "Ah, I see you found our wayward Commander, Seeker. I do hope nothing is amiss?"

"Sorry I'm late," Cullen said brusquely as he took his customary place between Leliana and Josephine.

"Oh, don't worry, Commander," Dorian said with a wink. "We all need the sun to freeze once in a while when something impossible happens."

Cullen mock-scowled at Dorian. "I've been late before. It's not _that_ rare."

"On the contrary, Commander, I heard that you were on time for your birth," Dorian said airily. "And probably saluted the healer when you came out. That's how I imagine it, anyway."

"That's not how I-" He paused, noticing the smirks on the faces around him. "Maker, I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

"Of course not, Commander," Leliana assured him. "Though there _are_ stories about Cassandra's birth."

Cassandra's eyebrows rose. "I did _not_ salute anyone when I was born," she protested.

"Perhaps not, but I'm sure you waited no later than your first birthday to do so," Leliana told her in a teasing tone.

Though most of those around the table chuckled as Cassandra made a noise of disgust, one person simply folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "Don't we have more important matters to discuss?" Hawke asked pointedly.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon, Your Grace," Dorian said lightly, though the levity in the room faded noticeably. "I shall make certain to schedule such lighthearted matters to occur only at the appropriate time henceforth."

Hawke smiled as he looked at Dorian directly. "Maybe after the meeting we could discuss that? Over a bottle of wine perhaps?"

As Dorian hesitated, obviously not wishing to reject the not-so-subtle invitation outright, Cullen stepped in. "I'm afraid that the Inquisitor won't be available. There's something which requires his attention."

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Hawke looked at Cullen. "I see. Well, far be it for me to get between the Inquisitor and his Commander."

After a moment of awkward silence, Alistair stepped forward and tapped his finger on the map. "The Western Approach," he said as he looked around the table. "We've been keeping an eye on Warden activities, and according to Leli's agents," he gave her a wink, "there's quite a bit of Warden activity there."

"And quite a few Venatori as well," Leliana added. "It's been building there since we've been driving them out of other areas around Thedas."

Cullen leaned onto the table, setting one of his markers in the center of the Western Approach. "There's an old Warden Keep there which would be a valuable addition to the Inquisition's resources," he noted. "Griffon Wing Keep. I'd suggest starting there so we can establish a presence in the region."

"Or," Hawke said with an edge in his voice, "we could go straight for the throat of the Wardens we've been tracking and not announce our presence in the Approach so that a blind and Blighted knife ear whore could spot it from one of the moons." He gave Cullen a brittle smile. "But then, I'm not the tactical genius that you are, Commander. I'm only a Viscount, after all."

Josephine shifted uneasily on her feet as the two men glared at each other. "I will point out," she said in her _time to be diplomatic_ voice, "that the Inquisition has had agents in the Western Approach for some time. We simply have limited it to scouts and Leliana's agents. A small party consisting of the Inquisitor and a few select companions would, most likely, remain undetected for quite a while."

"If we strike and take the Keep first," Alistair said, nudging Cullen's marker, "and then immediately head for the last known location of the Wardens in the Approach, there won't be an opportunity to raise the alarm. We believe Corypheus is influencing the Wardens through manipulation of their taint, but we don't have proof that they're coordinating with the Venatori, do we?"

"They're both serving Corypheus," Hawke pointed out. "It would be tantamount to idiocy to assume they're not."

"Then let's split the difference," Dorian suggested, looking at the map thoughtfully. "The Commander can take Griffon Wing Keep with the help of the Inquisition Forces and Leliana's agents, while I take a covert group to deal with the Wardens directly."

"Perhaps we could add a wrinkle to the mix that the Venatori won't expect," Leliana suggested. "The Chargers would be a formidable addition to the Inquisition forces in a battle like that."

"It has possibilities, Inquisitor," Cullen mused. "If I send in Knight-Captain Rylen with a select group of Inquisition Forces _and_ the Chargers with you, you should be able to claim the Keep very quickly. Then, while they're making noises to make it seem that you, personally, remain at the Keep, Leliana's agents could lead you to the Wardens' last known location."

"The Wardens might even take advantage of the Inquisition's supposed distraction with the Keep to finally do that ritual they've been talking about in those messages Hawke and I intercepted," Alistair mused.

Hawke's angry stance softened as a calculating expression came to his face. "Yes, we need to make sure we see what they're up to with that. Their correspondence made it sound like they were waiting for someone to arrive, someone who isn't a Grey Warden."

"And if that new ally is proven to be a Venatori, or allied with Corypheus, then we'll have sufficient evidence to go to our allies and ask for further aid against the Wardens," Josephine added.

"We don't have enough already?" Dorian asked in surprise. "Even with Warden Alistair on our side?"

"I wouldn't put too much weight on my name," Alistair said sheepishly as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I mean, yes, I was one of the Wardens who fought in the Fifth Blight, but I also abandoned the fight before it was over and went off to become a drunkard in the gutters of Kirkwall. I don't think my redemption story has circulated widely enough yet, or is… you know, _exciting_ enough. About all you can say is that Anora graciously hasn't asked for my head."

"Don't worry, old friend," Cullen told him. "Some day the bards will sing your tale without quite so much ale being involved."

"Thanks awfully, I feel _so_ much better now," Alistair told him sarcastically.

"That's the plan, then," Dorian said decisively as he straightened. "Cassandra, why don't you go let the Iron Bull and Varric know we'll be heading out to the Western Approach soon?"

As Cassandra nodded and moved to the door, Hawke grimaced. "The dwarf? Really?"

"That crossbow of his is positively lethal," Dorian pointed out. "But then, you already knew that, I would imagine."

Hawke's jaw rippled slightly. "As you say. I'll get ready for the journey, then. The Western Approach isn't one of my favorite areas in Thedas, after all."

"Nor is it for anyone in the Inquisition," Cullen said softly, and a hush came over the room. They all remembered quite clearly the location of Mailani's death, after all.

After a tense moment, Hawke inclined his head to Cullen. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect to the memory of Inquisitor Lavellan. Until later, then." With a curt nod to the room in general, he turned and left the room.

Alistair puffed his cheeks full of air. "He's acting more and more like a grumpy bronto lately," he observed. "I don't suppose you know any magical unicorn sprinkles spells, do you, Inquisitor?"

Dorian laughed. "Ah, no. Though that would be a rather spectacular spell, wouldn't it?"

"It would certainly get everyone's attention," Alistair said with a grin as he stretched his arms above his head. "Almost as effective as lightning. That's how Amell used to do it. The lightning, I mean, not magical unicorn sprinkles. Effective, mind, but Morrigan didn't speak to him for weeks after he zapped her hair straight out from her head. She had a _lot_ of hair."

Leliana laughed, though the sound was cut short as she quickly closed her mouth. "I'd forgotten about that. She even refused to make potions for him. It's the only time he ever apologized for anything."

"Ser High and Mighty apologize? Not him," Alistair said with a snort, glancing at the door for a moment. "Reminds me of someone else I could mention..."

"Oh, hush, Alistair." Leliana gathered up some papers and headed towards the door. "Come with me. I want you to brief some of my agents about what to expect when tracking Wardens."

"Right," Alistair said as he followed after her. "We can be a tricky bunch, we Wardens."

When the door had closed behind them, Cullen tilted his head for a moment, then glanced at Josephine. "Do you think-?"

"They _did_ travel together during the Blight," Josephine noted with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "And it was a trying time for both of them, from what she has told me."

"Is there something i should know about?" Dorian asked, one eyebrow rising.

"No, Inquisitor," Josephine said as she tucked her ledger close to her body. "Nothing at all. I will go make the necessary arrangements with the local lords on the way to the Western Approach so that Knight-Captain Rylen and yourself can proceed without running into any odious officials blocking the way. We don't want a repeat of what happened in the Emerald Graves, after all."

"You do think of everything," Dorian said with a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Lady Josephine. You are the Inquisition's greatest treasure."

Josephine smiled and curtsied to Dorian. "You are kind, Inquisitor. Now if you will excuse me." With a nod to Cullen, she exited the room, humming softly to herself.

"We truly have some remarkable people in the Inquisition, don't we?" Dorian mused. "I don't know how she manages to keep everything straight. I have enough trouble keeping track of the Magisterium. She has to do that for so many countries it makes my head spin."

"Mine, too," Cullen said with a chuckle as he collected his notes and leaned over to move a couple of markers on the table to new locations. "A good thing I'm not in her position. I've been told tact is not one of my strong suits."

"You, Commander? Not tactful? Perish the thought!" Dorian laughed as he leaned against the table. "I'm sure that using Inquisition forces to march a Halla into a village as a sign of mourning is completely the diplomatic approach."

Cullen winced as he stood, hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Admittedly, the momentary embarrassment was a good distraction from the dull pain of his headache. "I'll thank you not to remind me of that. Josephine wasn't too pleased with my suggestion, either."

"Thank me how?" Dorian teased him. "I can think of a few rather fascinating ways for _that."_

For a moment, Cullen stared at Dorian, then abruptly looked away, hand automatically rising to rub his forehead before he pulled it back down. Their friendship had grown stronger in the last few weeks, but Cullen preferred not to dwell on the _rather fascinating ways_ that Dorian hinted at in his little remark. "Ah, there is something I wanted to show you," he said in a more brusque tone as he rounded the table and headed to the door. "If you'll follow me, Inquisitor."

Pushing away from the table, Dorian nodded. "Where are you taking me, Commander? It's not to another of those boring inspections, is it?"

"Your presence at those is very important for morale," Cullen responded automatically, then glared at Dorian as the man grinned at him. "What?"

Dorian chuckled and waved his hand, causing the door to the war room to open on its own. "Sometimes you are so dreadfully predictable, Commander."

Cullen raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I've asked you not to do that." Even he wasn't sure whether he referred to the magic Dorian had used to open the door, or the mage's teasing.

Grin widening, Dorian thumped his hand on Cullen's shoulder before walking past him into the hall and gesturing towards the far door with a flourish. "Oh, come now, Commander. Everyone's life could use a bit of magic in it, even a grumpy ex-Templar."

"I am _not_ grumpy," Cullen groused, then grimaced as he realized that such a statement didn't do much to argue against the case. As Dorian's mouth opened to respond, he muttered, "And no comment from you."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Commander," Dorian said with a wink. "Now, where were you taking me, again?"

"Not an inspection, you'll be relieved to know," Cullen told him pointedly as he started to lead the way.

"In truth, I do not find those so very onerous, despite my complaints," Dorian admitted as he fell in beside Cullen. "I recall when Mailani would join you on those, and the smiles that always followed her. I may not have her gentle touch in such matters, but they seem to appreciate the gesture nevertheless. Who am I to put my creature comforts over theirs?"

Cullen gave him a sidelong glance. "I didn't realize you could see those before," he admitted.

"My little nook in the library has quite the view of Skyhold, Commander," Dorian reminded him. "Including the Courtyard. On occasion I would watch the display down there during training and such. Why, I even recall the time you removed that unsightly fur of yours to actually drill the men yourself. The scandal!"

"It is not unsi-" Cullen began, then stopped and glared at Dorian as the man's lips twitched. "Don't say that I'm predictable," he warned.

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it, Commander," Dorian said smoothly. "I _am_ a gentleman, after all. Even if some would argue that a Vint can never be a gentleman."

Unable to resist at least a smile at the sally, Cullen just shook his head and shoved the door to the Hall open. "Keep this up and I might take up that argument."

"I'm hurt, Commander, _deeply_ hurt," Dorian protested, hand pressing to his chest.

Cullen rolled his eyes as he led them to the next door, one to the left and nearer the throne. "This way," he told Dorian, pushing his way into the Inquisitor's quarters.

When the footsteps didn't immediately follow, he turned to see Dorian lingering just outside the doorway. With a frown, Cullen moved back. "Are you all right?"

"I-" Dorian's eyes were a trifle wider than usual, and a line had appeared between his eyebrows as they pinched together. "I wasn't expecting you to bring us _here."_

"So it's true, then," Cullen said softly. "Bull was right. You never sleep here."

"Of course not," Dorian said, sounding aghast at the very notion. "Though Bull is hardly an authority on where I sleep."

Recognizing the deflection for what it was, Cullen remained on topic with a pointed reminder. "You _are_ the Inquisitor."

"Yes, but... but these rooms aren't mine." His lips pressed together for a moment, but Cullen heard the unspoken words as clearly as if he'd spoken. _They are hers._

Setting his hand on Dorian's shoulder, Cullen gave him a little smile. "This way," he said softly. "There's something I want to show you."

After another moment's hesitation, Dorian finally nodded and took a step forward. With his hand on the man's shoulder, Cullen could feel the moment when the tension left Dorian, at the same moment when his grey eyes gained more than a hint of moisture. "I suppose they've been... ah, tending to the cleaning and such? My eyes are so very susceptible to dust and such things."

"I'll try to keep in mind that you are a delicate desert bloom," Cullen noted blandly. Ignoring Dorian's answering glare, he nodded ahead. "This way."

As they walked along the wooden platform leading to the Inquisitor's quarters, Cullen had to take a few deep breaths of his own. Nothing had changed, and yet...

"It's strange, isn't it?" Dorian murmured as they moved upward. "It's the same as it ever was, but... everything has changed."

Startled to hear a mirror of his own thoughts, Cullen gave Dorian a sidelong glance. "I was thinking much the same," he admitted. "The first time I came here after... after she died, I was out of my mind with drink. The first few times, if I'm to be honest." He looked around them, focusing on trivial details like dust motes and cobwebs in hopes of keeping the words distant as he spoke. "I still remember the first time I came up here after her effects had been sent back to her clan. That was... difficult."

"I can empathize," Dorian said, a catch in his voice. Quickly clearing his throat, he added in a stronger tone, "I wonder what the reaction would be if we turned it into a shrine for the Herald of Andraste."

Cullen had to chuckle at the idea. "I don't think the Chantry would view it favorably if the Inquisition started designating sites as holy to Andraste," he pointed out. "Especially if a Vint is involved."

"True," Dorian said with a sigh. "Not even if that Vint is fabulously handsome." Though the words were light, the way he was looking around as they climbed the final set of stairs showed a tightness around his eyes which indicated anything but levity. Once they stood at the top, however, his gaze gravitated to the portrait above the fireplace. "Oh- Oh. I see."

Without another word, Dorian moved stand in front of it, his hand half-reaching towards it before he pulled it back. As Cullen moved to put his hand on Dorian's shoulder, Dorian exhaled suddenly. "It's perfect," he said in hushed tones. "It's... difficult to see, but comforting, as well."

Cullen nodded in agreement, looking at the portrait with a steady gaze. "I admit my initial reaction was a trifle wrought, but on the whole I agree. I don't know who Josephine hired to paint it, but they must have known her in real life."

"Agreed. Her eyes in particular... Mailani always had such endless patience," Dorian said, tone almost reverent. For a few moments, the men stood in silence as they contemplated the painting. After a few moments, Dorian cleared his throat and took a long, shuddering breath and reached up to wipe his eyes. "We _will_ move this to the Hall, yes? Everyone will want to see it. Perhaps we could place it above the throne. That would be more than fitting, I would think. Oh, wait. Blast. The windows." He frowned for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "Ah, I almost forgot Dagna. I'm sure she can come up with something suitably magnificent to display Mailani without damaging the windows she loved."

Cullen again gave him a sidelong glance. "You remember that?" When he thought of Mailani and windows, it wasn't the ones in the main hall which came to mind, but the one in his bedroom in the tower. Though that was mostly because of the way she'd push him into it before pulling his trousers down to 'explore'. _Best not to mention that._ "I didn't think anyone else knew about that particular interest of hers."

"Oh, she was inordinately clever," Dorian commented, oblivious to Cullen's train of thought. "She let me look through her sketchbook once, and the windows were in there. The conversation turned to architecture of all sorts, and we went through the entire library looking for renditions of buildings all over Thedas. Maker, but she had such an inquisitive mind." Moisture welled up in his eyes once more, but this time they hovered above a smile. As a tear spilled out, he quickly dashed it away and offered Cullen a sheepish smile. "It's exquisite. I'll speak to Dagna straight away. The entire Inquisition will wish to see it."

"We wanted to give those who knew her best a more private viewing first," Cullen told him. "You're the last to see it." Hoping to lighten the mood a little, he nudged Dorian with an elbow. "For someone who likes to lecture me on the extreme nature of my work ethic, you're a hard man to pin down."

"Oh, I'm quite easy to pin down when I'm hard," Dorian quipped in an absent tone, most of his attention still on the painting.

Cullen blinked, ears burning a bit as he worked through what Dorian had said, particularly on the heels of the vivid memory with Mailani. "P-pardon?"

"What?" Dorian turned to look at him, giving Cullen a good view as the man's eyes widened and his ears pulled back. "I- Oh! Ah, perhaps we should just pretend I didn't say that, hmm?"

"I'm willing if you are," Cullen said quickly. After a moment, though, he laughed and nodded to Mailani's picture. _"She'd_ never let you forget it, though."

Dorian fought it, but finally he laughed as well, his gaze warming as he looked at Cullen. "No, she wouldn't, the minx. I'd give anything for her to tease me about it endlessly now."

Settling his hand on Dorian's shoulder, Cullen squeezed gently as he nodded. "As would I." After a final glance at the portrait, he took a deep breath and then turned away. "Come on. There's a bit more that I'd like to talk about."

"Oh?" As he tore his gaze from the canvas, Dorian turned it to Cullen with an eyebrow raised in inquiry. "What about?"

"Here," Cullen said, then pushed Dorian down onto the couch and settled down across from him. "This room. What should be your room. Josephine had it prepared for you the day of the ceremony, I'm sure of it. How long ago was that, hmm?"

Dorian quickly glanced away, leaning forward so that he could focus closely on his hands. "I'm perfectly content in my current quarters," he mumbled.

"You're the Inquisitor, Dorian." Cullen sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, it took Josephine and Leliana a while to convince me given... well, everything, but there are rumors."

"You think I haven't heard them, scuttling about and echoing off the walls of Skyhold like the blasted pests they are?" Dorian asked softly. "I'm only play-acting as Inquisitor, and am just a puppet for someone else. Hawke, perhaps, or the Imperium. That's one version. Oh, and then there's the guilt of murder. I can't sleep in the same place where she once slept for fear her spirit will find me and punish me." His voice took on a sing-song quality. "The evils of my past will find me in the room of the Herald, and I will pay for what I've done." He sighed and buried his face in his hands. "And others. Those are just the strains I've heard so often I could play them on a lute."

After a moment of staring, Cullen reached out and set a sympathetic hand on Dorian's arm. "What's the real reason?"

"Aside from the nagging feeling that I don't belong?" Dorian asked. "I suppose I simply feel like I'm intruding. On her memory." He finally turned to look at Cullen. "Or yours. Of being with her."

Now it was Cullen's turn to look away. "I am ashamed to admit that I did think that once," he admitted. "Particularly in those early weeks."

"And you had darker suspicions, too, as I recall," Dorian said, though he slid his hand up to rest on top of Cullen's, keeping it where it was. "I understand. I still blamed myself back then. It's taken me a long time to finally admit there was nothing I could do, save what I did."

"Being with her at the end," Cullen said with a nod. "If I could not save her, that would be the next best thing. Making sure she didn't die alone. To a soldier, the hand of a friend is sometimes the best you can hope for in the end."

Dorian smiled at that. "Very poetic, Commander."

"Oh, I can't take credit for that," Cullen said. "Ask any soldier and they'll tell you the same thing. And you gave her that. It took me a while to accept that, but… I thank you for it." He squeezed Dorian's arm.

"And I did one more thing," Dorian said softly, opening his left hand. The green light of the Anchor flickered uneasily, then faded. "Just as important, I hope. I'm continuing her legacy. I don't know if I'm essential to bringing down Corypheus, but the Anchor is certainly necessary for other tasks."

Cullen's mouth curved in a smile. "There are many people who owe you a debt of gratitude for your actions, Anchor or no," he told Dorian. "I'd accuse you of modesty, but that is beneath you."

"Quite right," Dorian said with a nod. "A marvel of perfection such as myself does not need such mundanity as a _modest_ disposition. You have a keen eye for detail, Commander, so I'm sure you agree."

Sitting back on the couch, Cullen pretended to study Dorian for a moment. The scrutiny took a bit longer than he originally intended, mainly because he realized he hadn't really evaluated Dorian on the basis of his looks. He knew the mage was handsome, but only when he was deliberately searching for a flaw to tease him about did Cullen realize that the man was also attractive. And that came as an obscure surprise. To cover the length of his study, he hummed for a few moments before giving a little shrug. "Oh, I don't know. Your clothing does seem to have a ridiculous number of buckles."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "You're not one to talk about fashion, Commander, unless we're discussing the southern reaches of Thedas where the barbarians live." Tweaking a bit of fur between his fingers, he added, "Fur? Really? That is so very Towers Age, after all. I'm surprised you let yourself be seen in public wearing the thing."

With a snort, Cullen batted Dorian's hand away. "At least I can finish disrobing before my bath water cools."

"Ah, the advantage of being a mage," Dorian fired back. "My bath is always the perfect temperature."

"Fair point," Cullen conceded with a laugh. "I don't have that advantage, admittedly."

"I could help you with that," Dorian told him with a wink.

Cullen blinked a few times, then looked away. "Ah, thank you, but we needn't share a bath."

"Share a-" Dorian laughed aloud as Cullen felt his ears heat. "Forgive me, Commander. I did not expect your mind to go there. I only meant I could perform a magical feat on your behalf. A stone to keep the water warm, or perhaps an enchantment on the tub itself, if it were metal. Not sharing. We're not in a barracks, after all."

Ears now well and truly reddened, Cullen coughed. "Understood, Inquisitor."

Dorian's eyebrows drew together. "My apologies, Commander. I tease you too much, I know. I shall refrain in your presence."

Cullen immediately shook his head. "No. It's all right. In fact…" A smile came to Cullen's face. "In fact, that's something I wished to talk to you about. I've been thinking about the last few months, about the Inquisition, and… I wanted to tell you that… Well…"

"Yes, Commander? I'm positively tingling with anticipation," Dorian said.

Now that it was time to trot out his little prepared speech, Cullen found himself suddenly uncertain. What if Dorian was offended? Or hurt? What if it was too cheesy, or self-serving? Suddenly his headache returned in full force, clouding his thoughts when he needed them to be focused. Clearing his throat to buy time, he said, "I… I wanted to tell you that she would be proud of you. Mailani, I mean. You could have gone back to the Imperium. You could have accepted Felix' offer to join him in Minrathous. You could have even chosen to do far less than you have. But you didn't." Encouraged by Dorian's widened eyes, he set his hand on Dorian's forearm and leaned in a little to give emphasis to his words. "You have been more than simply Mailani's legacy, Dorian, and more than her heir. You have truly earned the title Inquisitor, and I will offer my sword to your service in any way you see fit." With a little squeeze, he added, "I just thought someone should tell you."

Dorian's face worked through several emotions as his eyebrows rose and fell before his lips trembled into an almost shy smile. "Commander, I-I don't know what to say. Usually when men speak to me in such a fashion, it's a prelude to the use of a vastly different sword."

After a few seconds of a blank stare, Cullen's eyes widened, and he buried his head in his hand. _"Maker!"_

"Don't worry, Commander, I didn't misunderstand you," Dorian assured him with a tone full of earnest sincerity. "And… I thank you. Your words… I can easily say that no one has ever spoken to me in quite such a fashion. Errant moments of support, perhaps, but never wholehearted endorsement."

Aware that his face was still red, Cullen nevertheless looked up at him. "Not even your father?" He instantly knew from the expression on Dorian's face that it was the exact wrong thing to say. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he offered quickly. "I should have known better, after-"

Waving the comment away, Dorian smiled, though it held a brightness that spoke of its brittle nature. "No matter. I thank you for the compliment. I know such words are not easily gleaned from the Commander of the Inquisition Forces." Standing, he gave Cullen a bow. "And I'm sure that you don't need me twittering away at you all afternoon," he added in a cheerful voice.

With a wince, Cullen reached up to rub awkwardly his neck, grimacing as he found a taut tendon. "I don't mind, truly, Inquisitor."

Dorian frowned and rounded the couch to stand behind Cullen. "Is this what's causing your headaches?" he asked, then set his hands on Cullen's neck. "Maker, Commander, I could use your shoulders as an anvil! Your head must feel like Bull sat on it in all his horned glory."

Cullen groaned softly as strong fingers kneaded his neck. "I wish I could say I slept on it wrong, but-"

"But you didn't sleep, did you?" Dorian prompted, then clucked his tongue. "Commander, what have I told you about keeping impossible hours?"

"It requires impossible effort," Cullen replied sheepishly, though lack of sleep was only an element of his pain. The other part was the lack of the blue ecstasy he had spent half the night staring at in passive aggressive resistance.

"And am I wrong?" Dorian prompted as he worked over the knotted muscle.

"No." Cullen sighed, rolling his head slightly to give Dorian a better vantage. "And I did get _some_ sleep."

"Not nearly enough," Dorian scolded him as his fingers smoothed up to work at Cullen's scalp. "Drums would envy you right now."

Cullen chuckled, but as Dorian continued to work on his tension, an eerie feeling began to settle over him. When it grew too acute to ignore, he abruptly reached up and grabbed Dorian's wrists. "Did you ever have headaches?"

"Me? The paragon of perfection? Not really, why?" Dorian leaned around to study Cullen's face. "Your headache must be worse than I thought. You've turned pale as a sheet." He nodded to the bed. "And flat is better than sitting up. Come on, up you go. I can't afford to have my Commander collapse from pained exhaustion during drills, can I?"

With a little shrug, Cullen released him. "No. No, of course not. It's just that for a moment…" He stopped and shook his head. "It's not important. If you're willing to offer help, I am more than willing to accept it. This headache has lingered far longer than most of its kind."

Again Dorian clucked his tongue, then heaved Cullen to his feet. "Go, go," he said, making a shooing notion. "And be glad I mastered the grease trap spell as a child. Oh, and remove that… thing," he added, gesturing to Cullen's mantle. "It's rather hard to give a proper massage when you're not sure if someone's poorly chosen fashion accessories will eat you or not."

Cullen laughed even as he shrugged it off and laid it on the foot of the bed. "It's not _that_ bad," he told Dorian.

 _"I'll_ be the judge of that, thank you. The only thing _you_ spend time on when it comes to your appearance is your hair."

Pausing in the act of arranging himself face down on the bed, Cullen looked at Dorian with raised eyebrows. "What do you know about that?"

"If you think that Mailani didn't tell her best friend about your meticulous hairstyling regime, then you are seriously mistaken," Dorian told him as he pushed Cullen lightly.

Falling flat with an _oof,_ Cullen chuckled wryly. "I should have known. She teased me about it often enough."

"And rightfully so, Commander. Dragonthorn hair cream? Truly?" Dorian clucked his tongue, even as his hands settled again on Cullen's neck. "That must take a fair amount of your salary. Or you had an in with someone whose job it was to wander around the countryside and gather random herbal components. I wonder which it is, hmm?"

"Is that why there's always enough?" Cullen's eyes fluttered closed as slowly but surely the pain began to recede.

"It is part of her legacy, albeit a minor part. Far be it for me to not live up to maintaining the dignity and grace of your hair. Would the troops respect you if it collapsed into a flat, horrid mess?" Dorian asked, briefly patting Cullen's head for emphasis. "I think not."

With a tired chuckle, Cullen felt his body relax. "Whatever you say, Inquisitor." If Dorian had an answer, he didn't hear it. Instead, he simply let the motions of the fingers chase away the pain and stress of his waking hours to be replaced by a peace which had been sorely missing from his life.

And if, deep down, he wondered why Dorian's efforts reminded him so keenly of Mailani's deft touch, well… he chose not to dwell on the matter. Sleep seemed a far more compelling option for contemplation.


End file.
